By Janie Kang
Darkness envelops me. My heart pounds. The first strains of music echo in the theater as the spotlight fades in, blinding me from the intimidating audience who are watching, waiting in anticipation. Behind me, the light reflects off a pole. I turn and slink my way to it, the pole cool to the touch. My hands caress it like a lover before I wrap my fingers around it. I dance.
***
I am 46. At 38, instead of doing what others my age are “supposed” to do (what is that anyway?), I found my strength and community in pole dancing. What now, you say? Pole dancing? At your age? I admit, not even the most imaginative person who signed my school yearbook would have ever pegged me for a pole dancer. Short, geeky, barely girly, I was the kind of person others thought would go on to become an archaeologist or a nun. Given my sexual orientation and choice of exercise, it’s probably a good thing I didn’t become a nun.
I never thought I would find a community so much like family, nor a place to call home in a pole dance studio. Let me clarify, this is not the get-you-paid kind of pole dancing (I’m not that good), but I am part of a community, nonetheless. What drew me in from the beginning was the community’s acceptance. It didn’t matter what your shape, color, age, sexual orientation, or gender identity was—if you loved pole, you fit right in. I was humbled to learn about the birth of pole dance as well as the immense representation of BIPOC and LGBTQ+ people in the community. This “sport” that has become as mainstream as a Starbucks on every other street corner started from the strength and resiliency of sex workers who continue to fight for equal rights and protections. It helped me check my privilege as a pansexual, cisgender, White/Asian woman whose most impressive pasttime before starting pole was reading Jane Eyre in one sitting. I fell in love with the community.
I love my pole family. The blood, sweat, and tears poured into every performance brought us together. After a long day at work, I rushed into the studio along with other tired bodies, finding a safe haven from the world. We dug deep and found our beautiful, sensual, strong selves in dance. I never felt I belonged anywhere, weaving between ethnic, sexual identities, military and civilian households. In this studio/stage space, I got to decide who I wanted to be. I saw individuals dance beautiful performances that brought me to tears, sensual performances that made me blush, and enough sassy attitudes to fill several theaters.
Outside the studio, the pole community was there for me more than my biological family ever were. They helped me through relationship heartaches, single parenting, assault and abuse, and every challenge you can imagine in between. When my kids and I had nowhere to go for the holidays, my pole family folded us into their home without batting an eye. In every encouragement, push, “pole kiss” (i.e. bruises), and trick conquered, we discovered our strength and celebrated. This community taught me how to grow into myself and accept my pansexual identity. It strengthened my rebellious determination to resist in a world that seemed determined to erase our identities. Our sum is as powerful as its parts.
***
I run and jump onto the pole in a castaway, climbing higher and higher. Circus climb into outside leg hang. Pike into Superman drop. I cherish the freedom and joy. The song I dance to transforms from soft and sultry to a driving hard rock beat; not your status quo song for a 46-year-old to dance to. I do it anyway. I dance and share my heart with the audience, drawing them into a deeper, emotional moment in this sacred space. I dance for the LGBTQ+ community with love and pride, a bright beacon that says to the world, “We are here. We have a right to exist. We are not going anywhere.” I dance for my loved ones who have been through so much. I dance for myself, proud of my pole kisses and scars that have become my strength.
Janie Kang (she/her pronouns) lives in the Pacific Northwest region of the U.S. When she doesn’t have her nose in a book, you can find her hanging upside down wherever a pole is available.