‘Burlesque for Beginners’ in The West Australian 27 September 2008
An article in The West Australian, 27th September 2008, by Flip Prior
Standing on stage at a hotel in Highgate, seconds from stripping to our frilly knickers in front of a raucous crowd, Betty DeLuxe and I throw each other a panicked glance.
Somehow, despite weeks of practice, we’ve managed to miss our cue – but as we unhitch our skirts and fling them away to reveal our fishnet stockings and suspenders underneath, the crowd goes wild regardless.
When we showed them our cupcakes with a shimmy just seconds later, it almost lifted the roof.
This is burlesque amateur style, baby, and it’s taken Perth by storm.
Weeks earlier, my two friends and I walk into a vast workout studio in Victoria Park where 30 women of all ages, shapes and sizes sit blinking under the neon lights, looking distinctly nervous.
One or two have turned up in towering stilettos and look as if they meant business but, wearing a dress and a pink hibiscus on the ear to match her lipstick, our host Melanie Bruyer is the only truly glamorous woman in sight.
It is her job to turn us into sex goddesses in just six weeks and she has her work cut out.
Bruyer is one of the masterminds behind one of Perth’s hottest new hobby, presiding over an “Introduction to Burlesque” course to which WA women from all walks of life have been flocking to learn how to put the “tease” back into striptease.
During our first class, she lines us up in front of a mirror to deliver the first crucial point: burlesque celebrates women of all shapes and sizes and curves are to be celebrated, not denigrated.
Second, burlesque is not – repeat not – to be confused with straight-out stripping.
“With stripping, you go down as quickly as possible to perform in the nude, whereas burlesque striptease is all about the art of tease, about removing each piece of clothing carefully and seductively,” Bruyer says.
According to Ms Derriere, the “bump and grind”, shimmy, undulation and wiggle are okay, but pelvic thrusting or “flossing” with the feather boa – best left to the imagination – definitely are not.
Over the evening, we practice our new moves, adding sexy snake arms (or in my case, wild flailing octopus arms) while bumping and grinding awkwardly to snatches of classic burlesque tunes in front of a mirror.
By the time we flop to the floor to stretch after dancing around in a circle and kicking our legs in an approximation of the showgirl classic, the can-can, we’ve worked up quite a sweat.
At our next class, a fashion slideshow depicting the “golden age” of burlesque is preceded by a series of short vintage films featuring the heroines of burlesque.
We are amused watching a girl perform a breast-jiggling Indian dance with a feather sticking out from between her bum cheeks while her naked cohorts bash away on tom-toms, but Dixie Evans’ routine silences the group.
Platinum blonde and wearing little but a series of frenzied facial expressions, the burlesque “legend” lurches around and vigorously flings away clothing in her wake.
We watch with horror as Evans’ ample breasts joggle loose before she flings herself on a sofa and dry humps it for a grand finale, exiting stage left with a dainty curtsy and a wink.
My friend leans over and whispered: “That’s what you’re gonna be doing …”
Thankfully, there are plenty of other burlesque heroines to emulate: from silent film actress Louise Brooks in the 1920s to the glamorous Hollywood starlets of the 1930s, 40s and 50s.
While their carefully arched brows rose and fell with their hemlines – and for a time, disappeared altogether – what these disparate seductresses had in common was the ability to work a camera and turn men weak at the knees with whatever attributes they had. In ensuing weeks, we learn to channel our own inner sex goddesses.
We strut in sky-high heels, clopping obediently around the room in time to music and stopping for the occasional wobbly bump and grind and shimmy.
We peel off gloves, garters and stockings and feather boas in seductive fashion and learn to apply the classic glamour face: ruby lips, smoky eyes and creamy, matt skin with the barest hint of rose on the cheeks.
And burlesque, it seems, is as much about the art of illusion as it is glamour: we also learn how to disguise unsightly bits on the legs with shiny stockings, to magic up tiny waists with a hitch of a corset, and boost dismal cleavage with a pair of “chicken fillets”.
One night, we pile into Lazy Susan’s Comedy Den at the Brisbane Hotel to see 11 graduates of the last course strut their stuff. Backstage, the girls are squashed into the tiny change room in various states of undress amid an explosion of feathers, sequins and pouting red lips.
Boobs are spilling out of sexy bras, waists are cinched to fainting point and the scent of glitter spray is choking.
Twenty-four year old Tina Gia – aka Lorelai Lita – is performing for the first time and says she is going all the way down to her nipple “pasties” with her mum cheering her on.
Miss Billie Rose , 26 – admits when her mum remarked that her dress was a little low-cut before she left the house, she didn’t have the heart to tell her it would be coming off.
The show is campy and spectacular, a heady mix of vaudeville comedy, singing and dancing presided over by kitschy, blonde 50s housewife Fanny La Rue.
“Who wants to have a good time with Fanny?” she asks with an arched brow, before Billie Rose shimmers onto the stage in a flapper dress to perform a sultry rendition of “All That Jazz”, disposing of her clothing artfully between hitting the high notes.
A hotdog routine by Coco Valentine and Cherry Poppins complete with squirting tomato sauce and knickers strung with sausages is a double-entrendre delight while Lady Stiletto Divine – Andrea Wijaya, 30 – ups the raunch factor, spanking herself with a riding whip and disrobing to reveal sexy blue lingerie in front of her husband, who has his handicam fixed firmly on the stage.
But it is Lorelai Lita who steals the show.
Gorgeously voluptuous and brimming with confidence, she struts and preens and ends her routine with a shimmy of ample breasts, barely covered with sparkling aquamarine pasties, to the roars of the appreciative crowd.
Betty Deluxe and I, now Bubbles DuBois, decide it is time to coax our inner seductresses off the couch, where they have been sitting in their tracksuit pants eating ice-cream.
The next few weeks are a whirlwind of activity as we frantically sew costumes and devise a kitschy “Cupcake Capers” kitchen routine with the help of a talented friend.
We craft cupcake bras out of shoulder pads, shiny paper and several strategically placed red fuzzy felt balls, paired with hoop skirts, sparkling headbands and the sexiest underwear and shoes we can find.
After weeks of rehearsals in front of amused friends, who are forced to endure endless showings of our bums and thighs, a few sleepless nights and a several tantrums, D-day arrives.
Before the performance, there are weeks of nail-biting terror that Betty is going to do a runner, after she complains incessantly about the perceived size of her thighs and stomach and threatens several times to pull out.
However, the dress rehearsal two nights before the performance cheers her up as one by one women with lumpy thighs, wobbly arms and considerable derrieres – including ourselves – parade their wares without a hint of embarrassment.
On the night, our nerves are calmed backstage by our dressing-gown and saggy grey underpants-clad host Frank Beaver, whose slugs of red wine and sleazy pastiche take our minds off the task ahead.
First up and fortified by several stiff drinks, Betty and I prance onstage with our cupcakes just after 8pm and, stunned by the lights and noise from the crowd as we gradually shed our clothing, we stuff up our routine spectacularly.
After a mock wooden spoon fight, clumsy dancing and several wardrobe malfunctions, we dash from the stage in our undies in delighted hysterics with the audience’s laughter and wolf-whistles ringing in our ears.
In an age when gratuitous nudity barely raises an eyebrow, it’s astonishing to think that the flashes of thigh or hints of midriff most performers had offered up could generate so much excitement in an audience.
But it’s the participants who get the biggest kick of all – to their ample backsides, to remind them they’re sexy just the way they are.
Whether we mastered the art of seduction with our performance is a matter of opinion – but we left the hotel that night with a definite wiggle in our walk.
And as for Betty? Days after the show, she is still glowing with a newfound confidence, saying her boyfriend couldn’t stop smiling and friends have begged her for a repeat performance.
“I never thought I’d flash my bum in front of a crowd, ever – but I’m so glad I did,” she says.
