Sunday, March 12, 2006


I have no idea why, but male strippers are a big turn-off. Why is it that men can watch women stripping and feel excited but when women watch men they laugh, cringe, talk behind their hand to friends, anything except look like they might be enjoying it? I really don't know why but it happened to me yesterday evening.

Three friends and I went over to Madam just off the Champs Elysées (I believe the absence of the 'e' was part of the concept - who knows, maybe a nod to us anglophones). 'Madam' was a party where, for 20€ we had as many cosmopolitans as we could manage, a back massage (fully clothed by professional Amma masseurs), manicure and hair-cut. The glow of light from the candles and the occasional red bulb were not sufficient to convince me to part with a few inches of hair so I stuck to the massage and drinks. Very delicious they were too.

What I objected to about this soirée were the male strippers. Three well-toned beautifully sculpted males repeatedly removed their trousers / half-shirt collars / jackets while dancing extremely well to Michael Jackson, Irene Cara etc. I noticed that they didn't remove their socks at any point. The Moonwalk is complicated with one hand around your ankle trying to yank off a towelling sports sock, or so I imagine.

About seven girls were chosen individually over the course of the 15 minutes they were on stage and since it was a fairly intimate setting there were only 40 or so to choose from in any case. I was petrified I would be chosen and would have to sit beetroot-faced on a tiny stool while leather-clad male equipment hung and swung not more than 5cm away. Luckily I managed to escape such an experience by concentrating on my cosmo and studying the cloakroom entrance.

It was enough to put me off my free tomato salad.

No comments: