It had been a long, tough week. Perhaps it was for you, too.
You know, that week a couple months ago when Judge Brett Kavanaugh and Dr. Christine Blasey Ford went before the Senate Judiciary Committee. And yes, I believe her.
So after an inundation of maddening news clips, I would have preferred to have been home in sweatpants Netflixing my pain away. But I was being a good bridesmaid to a dear friend, and there we were, a bunch of girls* at a bachelorette party at a certain adult entertainment club showcasing Boston’s finest male strippers.
Let’s call it Men in Lotion.
*Let me pause here to say that we’re not exactly girls. My friend waited patiently to find “the one” and so is getting hitched at 41. As I’ve confessed to you all recently, I’m 40. And the other women in our group are around the same age. Most of us are moms. All of us follow the news. It’s probably fair to say we all would have liked to be home Netflixing our pain away. Bride included.
But we were rising to the occasion, celebrating the upcoming nuptials in a traditional, tacky kind of way. So we flocked into the nightclub with the rest of the masses, a sea of long, wavy locks and high heels.
Men in Lotion works like this. Everyone pays a cover fee to get in. Guests of honor (bachelorettes and birthday girls) pay extra for a “hot seat” so they can go on stage during the show and get a special dance from the guys. And high rollers pay even more to sit on the stage during the whole show.
We stood near the bar. It was close enough.
The show started well enough. Four men danced onto the stage as the throngs of women screamed from their seats. It was very Chippendales, and just as I had imagined it. We whooped and whistled with the rest of the ladies.
Then the special dances began. The men led one bachelorette onto the stage. She was dressed in a white cropped top and white wide-legged trousers, a perfect tiara perched on her shiny brown hair. Let’s call her Classy Bride.
Classy Bride smiled warily as two men on stage encircled her. She looked rather sober. The men guided her onto the floor (I winced for her perfect white pants) and had her lay there as they took turns gyrating on different parts of her body. Then they rolled her over and did more of the same, Classy Bride’s cheek smushed against the stage. When she stood, she was flushed, her hair tangled around her tiara. Smoothing it, she tried to regain some dignity as she returned to her cheering friends. She didn’t look happy.
The next bachelorette was not so sober. In fact, let’s call her Drunk Bride. Drunk Bride was bent over a chair while one man worked her behind and the other, grabbing her hair, moved her head up and down against his crotch. Then one of the guys — a tiny man resembling Zoolander — removed his belt and looped it around Drunk Bride’s neck, grinning wildly at the crowd. As he dog-walked Drunk Bride around the stage, his thonged buttcheeks moved up and down, up and down. They looked like little grapefruits.
The audience went crazy, clapping and screaming like a bunch of banshees.
How did we get here? I don’t mean T or Uber. I mean, how is this sexy? Sure, letting loose is fun. And so is going outside our comfort zones. But here’s a question: Why isn’t she the one holding the belt? Why isn’t she the one to throw the man down on stage? Wouldn’t that be sexier?
Men in Lotion wasn’t all bad. Some of the guys were more respectful, seducing women in a slow dance, or undressing before bachelorettes who were given the dignity of actually sitting in chairs. One handsome man dressed in a white military uniform (a la Richard Gere in An Officer and a Gentleman) thrilled the crowd with the slow removal of his hat… and jacket… and pants. It was sexy, and he didn’t require props, or intoxicated women, to make it so.
Maybe I’m too old for this kind of thing. Maybe I just wasn’t in the right head space to watch two men pantomiming having their way with one woman.
Maybe it was because I couldn’t stop thinking of Dr. Ford, and how her bravery has reminded us all that we deserve some respect.
I can’t stop thinking about that.
Let’s not.
