Federally Allocated Funding for Stripper Academies

A quick, vaguely unmanly confession: I am very uncomfortable walking into a strip club. And I'm not one of those prudes who despises the institution because it degrades women. None of this Gertrude Steinem, undefinable third wave feminism nonsense that insists that it dehumanizes women by turning them into grunting, monosyllabic sex objects. No, I equate stripping to being a secretary at Sterling Cooper. You might get slapped on the ass for a living, but there's also an element of empowerment to be found.

I have no problems with the female body. Doesn't make me nervous at all. I think I have even "liked" the female form on Facebook. If it weren't for the promise of bare breasts, why else would I go see Anne Hathaway movies? Hell, I sat through Princess Diaries 2 just in case Disney decided to slip in a few choice, three frame blocks of graphic nudity.

No, it has nothing to do with ethics or Feminism or basic hygiene. My problems stem from a more systematic issue about why these women choose this line of work. And that is exactly the issue: no woman willingly chooses to be a stripper.

The dancers didn't come here because they had other options. These women haven't ended up here after years of training and chasing their dreams. She didn't willingly pick up pole dancing during college and turn it into a career. You walk into a strip club with the inherent knowledge that the first woman who approaches you probably has A) daddy issues, B) three kids, and C) an ex-boyfriend named Vitali. You know without a shadow of a doubt that something happened to her along the way where she was forced to go with her plan B. Or C. Or DD.

Sure, in the case of some Oscar-winning hacks, the stripper in question might only be there to do research for a novel, but that's an outlier that you'd best forget.

Every one of these dancers has a sob story to tell about how they ended up here. And boy does that kill your erection faster than the thought of Chelsea Handler propositioning you as she is wrapped in nothing but sandpaper.

I'm not taking anything away from the job. Strippers provide a valuable service to the community and the market has determined the price point. But so many potential clients don't walk in the door because they don't want the depressing backstory. What happened to the good old days when a man could fill his plate at the buffet, sit down and watch some naked women without thinking, "Dear God, that poor girl probably hasn't spoken to her father in over four years."

It's hard to enjoy yourself when you subconsciously fill in her history and it plays like the second act of a Lars Von Trier movie. There's something truly depressing about making it rain when each one of those falling dollar bills represets another failed dream that will never come to pass.

You wouldn't go to the circus if you knew that the clowns were criminals, working off their debt with fake smiles and juggling. (Incidentally, that is one of the main reasons I avoid the circus)

Due to the unfortunately accurate stereotyping, stripping isn't a glorified profession. It's not the sort of job that makes its way into your family's Christmas letter. "By the way, my little Amy is now working at the Velvet Persimmon on Thursday nights. She goes by the name 'Cinnabon' and is told that she has plenty of upward mobility, if you catch my drift."

What has to happen so that I can willingly walk into the Spearmint Rhino and not feel a sense of liberal guilt about the circumstances that brought Krystal and Kiki to that pole? How can we turn strippers back into sex objects and not cautionary tales for our daughters?

There is a simple answer: Take away the stigma from the job and make strippers an accepted part of everyday society.

Let's turn strippers into the new, say, yoga instructor. When I go to a yoga studio and see a hot woman in tight clothing on all fours, I don't immediately think, "She must have no self respect so she's now teaching yoga." I don't assume that my yoga instructor was molested by her uncle at Thanksgiving or is struggling to pay the tuition of her five children. Yogis and strippers both use fake names, but for some reason calling yourself "Shakti" (which is Sanskrit for "illegitimate daughter of Earth Mother") is acceptable yet "Candi" and "Sapphire" aren't.

Teaching yoga is a noble profession. I pay $18 per class (occasionally all in singles). I watch as she bends and contorts and breathes heavily. I watch has she helps other female students bend deeper into the pose. And occasionally she'll touch me (only if she volunteers. Learned that one the hard way). Perfectly normal. Great exercise. Great physical benefits. Mental clarity.

I love Ron Paul as much as the next socially regressive capitalist, but the free market isn't going to rectify this situation anytime soon. The invisible hand isn't going to grope the industry into shape.

We need immediate government intervention to counteract decades of negative stereotyping and negligence. Time to begin the Federally Allocated Funding for Stripper Academies (or FAFSA for short).

Starting next year, the government will screen potential female college students who show dynamic potential on the stripper pole and guide them towards their new profession. Go to the Ivy League and find women with ambition-- No. Wait. Not hot enough. You go to Stanford -- nope. That's even worse. Okay. Go to Arizona State and find former high school cheerleaders with a 3.0 GPA and are currently Communications majors (and trust me, they're all Communications majors). Offer massive scholarship money if they will switch their major over to "Calisthenic Pole Dancing" (a major with the same level of difficulty and usefulness). The National Endowment for the Well Endowed.

After about four graduating classes, there will be enough eloquent, well-read strippers out in the market to change the general perspective. This is a viable career choice and not a fallback. These are bright women who have chosen to make a living with their bodies, and are well compensated with both a 401K and health benefits (until, of course, Obamacare gets repealed). Monster.com can start resume drops for exotic dancer. Hell, get rid of the "exotic dancer" euphemism. No need for euphemisms when your job is legitimate.

Maybe you even release a propaganda film or two to hammer this point home (what's Steven Soderbergh up to these days? Hell, just combine Erin Brockovich and Haywire and you're set).

Suddenly, you walk into a strip club, get a lap dance and think, "This is exactly what she wants to do with her life. She doesn't necessarily have a bodybuilder boyfriend who is probably also her parole officer and meth dealer. Good for her!"

And isn't that what we're all working towards? It would be a stronger world, a stronger loving world in which to stare at naked women for money.

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Screw Flanders.