Filtering by Tag: STRIPPERS
Meet The Strip Club CEO Who Wants To Get Guys Off Their Phones And Into The Clubs
A dancer works a convention crowd, Las Vegas, NV | Photo credit: Susannah Breslin
This article was originally published on Forbes.com on May 9, 2022.
“Everybody wants to party.” That’s how Eric Langan, the CEO, president, and chairman of the board of RCI Hospitality Holdings, Inc., the only publicly traded company that owns gentleman’s clubs, describes the state of his business today. Pandemic? Fuggedaboutit. Two years of dark news, quarantining, and masks have resulted in a surge of consumers who want to go out and have fun. The strip club business may not be pandemic proof, but according to Langan, it’s pandemic resistant. After an initial dip early on in the pandemic, the company has come roaring back and is doing better than ever. According to Langan, its suite of businesses are on track to generate between $260 million and $280 million in revenue in 2022.
You might not have heard of RCI Hospitality Holdings, which trades on Nasdaq under the symbol RICK, but you may have heard of its establishments, which include over forty strip clubs and restaurants. Among its gentleman’s clubs are Rick’s Cabaret and Vivid Cabaret in New York City; Club Onyx, which has outposts in Houston, Charlotte, St. Louis, and Indianapolis; and Tootsie’s Cabaret in Miami. (“The place is so big they've got a giant room in the back for making the furniture upon which the laps get their dances,” this reporter discovered during a 2015 visit.) There’s also Bombshells, a military-themed chain of restaurants and bars (think: Hooters, but the servers wear fake ammunition belts instead of orange shorts) with multiple locations across Texas. The company brand is a mix of food, booze, and attractive women. The company went public, as Rick’s Cabaret International, in 1995 and hasn’t looked back since.
“They’re having fun,” he notes of the twenty-something to forty-something customers who are frequenting his establishments. “They’re way more into experiences than things. They want human interaction. They want to be seen. They want to be heard. They want to flex in front of their friends. It’s about being out and feeling like you’re somebody.” The pandemic isolated people, restricted their freedom, kept them apart. “This is just a retaliation against that lack of freedom,” he observes. “Now they’re expressing their freedom in every way they can. I think it’s great.”
So, how do you pry the young men whom comprise his customer base off their sofas, away from their Netflix shows, out of their homes and into his clubs and restaurants to spend their money? Thanks in part to Langan’s son Colby, the company’s director of administrative operations, who introduced his father to NFTs, “the crypto world,” and web3, RCI Hospitality Holdings is strategically employing a series of tech-focused initiatives. There’s AdmireMe, a kind of OnlyFans for dancers—or “entertainers,” as Langan refers to them—that connects dancers to customers; Tip-N-Strip, an NFT-based points-program with VIP benefits; and the company’s next earnings call, on Monday, May 9, 2022, at 4:30 p.m. ET, will be held on Twitter Spaces.
“We’ve become a mainstream company,” Langan asserts. “Yes, we have strip clubs, but really we’re in the cash flow business.” Of course, his job isn’t like every other CEO’s job. (“I’m the head janitor,” he says.) Active on Twitter, he’s not one for holding back. “Diamond Cabaret Denver has so many beautiful entertainers tonight,” he tweeted not long ago. “I can’t decide if it should be a blonde or brunette kinda night. What do you think ?” In another tweet, he advised his followers: “Just remember you can take the stripper out of the club but you can’t take the club out of the stripper !!!” No matter. In the end, this is the strip club (and restaurant) business. After the Twitter Spaces earnings call, he’ll be mingling with investors at Tootsie’s, along with a few dancers.
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Fuck You, Pay Me #6: Letters From Johns Revisited
This is part 6 of “Fuck You, Pay Me,” an ongoing series of posts on writing, editing, and publishing. Read the rest of the series: Part 1: How To Become a Writer in 12 Easy Steps, Part 2: The Pros and Cons of Traditional vs. Indie Publishing, Part 3: Scenes From My Life Writing a Porn Novel, Part 4: Why I Hate Memoirs (but Wrote One Anyway), Part 5: 19 Ways to Make Money as a Writer, Part 6: Letters From Johns Revisited, Part 7: Some of My Favorite Things I’ve Ever Written (Journalism Edition), Part 8: Some of My Favorite Things I’ve Ever Written (Fiction Edition), Part 9: How to Promote Your Book Without Going Crazy, Part 10: The Pornification of My Life, Part 11: How to Be More Creative, Part 12: The Fine Art of Applying to Writing Residencies, Part 13: How to Be a Consultant, Part 14: Cranking the Flywheel, Part 15: Why You Should Have a Newsletter, Part 16: An Excerpt From My Memoir, Part 17: How to Write a Short Story.
Recently, I’ve been thinking about Letters From Johns, a 2008 project in which, over the course of a year, I shared emails that men sent me about their experiences paying for sex. (As you can see on the project’s website, by submitting their letters, the letter writers were granting me permission to share their letters, anonymously, of course.) This letters project was part of what would become a five-year project I called The Letters Project, and which included Letters From Working Girls, Letters From Men Who Watch Pornography, Letters From Men Who Go To Strip Clubs, and Letters From Cheaters. The Letters Project as a whole got a fair amount of media attention, including coverage by Salon, CBC Radio, and Newsweek. In a weird coincidence, I launched Letters From Johns on January 3, 2008, and then New York governor Eliot Spitzer was entangled in a prostitution scandal a little over two months later, the latter bringing some attention to the former. (That’s timing for you, I guess?)
In August of 2013, as The Letters Project was winding down, I published an essay about the project: “You Were My Studs.” I wrote about how the whole project had started with a shot in the dark: I had put out a call on my blog, asking readers why they had paid for sex. Within a few hours, I had my first answer: “The Night I Drove a Call Girl to Her Next Stop”; it begins: “I am writing because I can’t tell this story to anyone I know and retain my dignity, but since your soliciting I figured I can get it off my chest.” There were more letters to come. As I wrote in my essay: “Over the following year, I heard from over 50 johns. Their letters came at all hours of the day and night. They were from young guys and old guys, white guys and black guys, military grunts and corporate drones. The letters were poignant, exhilarated, nostalgic, terrifying, revelatory. They were all confessions.”
One letter in particular, “I’m a State Investigator,” struck me:
“I keep a coded diary, in case it's discovered. 1 dot is oral, 2 dots is vaginal sex, and 2 connected dots is anal sex. In the event that someone questions the dots, they are associated with good/bad days: no dots are normal days, 1 dot is a good day, 2 dots is a great day, and 2 connected dots is the best day for that week."
As I wrote: “Of course, the letters weren't about sex, or prostitution, or johns. They were about love and loneliness, from guys who just wanted to be touched and men who had gotten dumped, stories in which call girls really had hearts of gold and mercenaries cruised foreign streets in search of bodhisattvas-for-hire.” After a year, each letters project was closed to submissions, and while I received many letters, I rarely responded: “I surmised the letters were not for me; they were for their authors.” But, as I recounted, I did reach out to one john: “I Am Ashamed of Nothing I Have Done.” In an email, I asked him why he had written a letter to me (a woman).
His response, in part:
“By that, I mean I never considered that I was writing my letter to a woman. You're Ms. Breslin, with a blog about john experiences. Like my several john experiences, I was reaching out to no one in particular; I was, in hindsight, trying to find some elusive unidentifiable emotion. Although I gave you 'a perpetual, royalty-free license to use, reproduce, modify, publish, distribute, and otherwise exercise all copyright and publicity rights with respect to that information at its sole discretion, including incorporating it in other works in any media now known or later developed including without limitation published books,' you cannot take from me the liberating experience you elucidated from three simple questions. Thank you. And again, thank you, if only for a few brief moments of experiencing ... .... ..."
Looking over the letters now, I remembered a lot of them, and how I got a kind of thrill whenever I received a new one. It was fascinating to revisit them today.
Like Letters From Johns’ “I Am a Gentleman”:
“There are many who would maintain that my philandering disqualifies me from claiming to be a good person, and definitely from being a good husband. Frankly, I don't care what they believe. I have a hobby that is infinitely more interesting to me than travel or theme parks. The ladies I prefer can hold conversations and appreciate the occasional session just to stroke their bodies. They do not judge. They do not become angry at requests. They treat the experience as an encounter between equals. There is no power struggle. There is no drama. There is privacy, and usually conviviality. What we do behind closed doors remains there.”
Or Letters From Working Girls’ “I Am Just An Ordinary Woman With The Knack Of Making People Love And Trust Me”:
“I am just an ordinary woman with the knack of making people love and trust me. These were just men who needed to love somebody who would let them. It's all so simple. Not complicated in the least. There were no perversions too perverse to get in the way of the trusting bond that was needed. Women suffer out loud, and men suffer in silence. Until we allow men to suffer out loud, many a wife will wonder where her husband is during his lunch hour, and in my opinion, a lot of those wives deserve it. (Not all of those wives.)”
Or Letters From Men Who Watch Pornography’s “I Was a Geek”:
“I've come to accept pornography as my surrogate sexual lifestyle: devoid of complication, disease, and odoriferous unpleasantness, and heavily populated with a wide range of women to satisfy every craving, it is a hollow yet adequate solution to my otherwise celibate bachelor existence. And while I am still aware of the inherent pathetic quality of being a man alone at my age, I would much rather be the connoisseur of an under-appreciated form of entertainment continuing to transcend the aesthetic limits hitherto placed upon it by forces of official history than a harried everyman, harangued by the burdens of emotional turmoil, personality conflict, atrophying sexual energy, and ludicrously inexcusable asinine conversations and circular arguments.”
Or Letters From Men Who Go to Strip Clubs’ “I Am Gay”:
“All of that is uncomfortable to witness, because none of it can be commented on nor helped without becoming far too intimate far too fast. The club creates the illusion of heterosexual intimacy, a coy game of it, but it refuses to actually allow or engage the real thing. So long as everyone involved simply enjoys the game, all is well; but the moment someone needs more than the game, they absolutely cannot have it, and so they stand there, open and raw and unable to share. Most of the other dudes are too engaged to notice, but the detached strippers and the detached gay man notice.”
Or Letters From Cheaters’ “I Have Always Been a Cheater”:
“Eventually, this split life I was living took a toll on my relationship. One day I pulled the plug. I tried to reform myself. I took up a daily meditation practice. I tried my best to avoid massage parlours, prostitutes and gangbangs. About eighteen months ago I met another wonderful woman. We’re talking about building a house outside the city, starting a business and, of course, having a child. I’m happy. But… I still can’t stop myself from looking at the online ads; I’m still not quite there, if you know what I mean. Sometimes I worry that everything is really just work and performance.”
Sometimes when people ask me what I write about I say sex or porn or the business of sex. The real answer is probably closer to intimacy. That’s what these letters, the best of them, anyway, the most real and raw and revealing, are about. Every so often, I think of one of the Letters from Johns that’s stayed with me: “I Have a Physical Disability.”
Here’s his letter in full:
“I have a physical disability known as Cerebral Palsy and am in an electric wheelchair. I have always struggled in my own existence, largely because I rely on a lot of people to assist me with the most basic tasks, such as dressing, showering, getting in and out of bed, and other basic things that many people take for granted. Although I am verbal, and highly intelligent, having acquired two university degrees at the age of 24, people do tend to judge a book by its cover when it comes to things such as dating and sex.
My entire life I have been trapped inside a body that I hate. It never does what I want it to. It always conspires against me. Although I am confident in my intellectual ability, I do not have a very strong self-image. This is largely because every girl I have asked out on a date has rejected me. Some were even cruel enough to say, ‘Why would I ever go out with a cripple like you?’ Even now, I still have not yet had a girlfriend.
A few years back, I was hanging out with a few other disabled guys who were less physically able than I was. They mentioned that they regularly used a pro because it was the only way they could get the release they craved the most. Most of these guys couldn’t lift their heads up on their own, let alone have the ability to please a woman the way they wanted to. They would go to a brothel and get a hand-job once every few weeks. One of them described his first time with a pro in a way that will stick with me for the rest of my life; he said that ‘It was the first time I felt like a real man.’
Sometime later, I fell in love for the first time. After pursuing her for several months, I was rejected once more, but this time was much harder to swallow than the others that came before her. After several weeks of feeling sorry for myself, I decided to do something about it. Remembering the words of my friends, I decided I would visit a brothel. However, unlike my friends, I knew I wanted more than a hand-job. I wanted to lose my virginity.
I searched through the phone book, found a brothel I wanted and asked about the processes involved. I soon discovered that like most things in my life, this could not be a total secret. If I wanted to have sex, I would need somebody to help me shower before and after, as well as to lift me onto the bed. This would put most of my other disabled friends off immediately, but it did not deter me in the slightest. Without a moment's hesitation, I asked my older brother if he could help me. Although he was initially stunned, he reluctantly agreed.
On the night we turned up at the brothel, we were two completely different men. I was excited, nervously anticipating what would await me. My brother, in contrast, was absolutely petrified, afraid that someone he might know would walk in. After a short while, some girls made their way out and introduced themselves. I picked one and we followed her into the room. She stepped out while my brother helped me get organized. I told him to go for a walk, and I’d give him a call when I was ready.
The whole experience was everything I hoped it would be. She started by giving me a massage, which eased my muscles that are normally tight and non-compliant. As she completed the massage, my body felt like it could do anything I wanted, something I had never felt before. She went down on me, and we had sex. She made me feel safe and confident in myself. For that portion of time, having sex with her (even if I had to pay for it) made up for a lifetime of rejection.
It was the most enjoyable experience I have ever had in my life. I would put it down to two things. For once I had gained control over my body, and it felt like I was in control of my life. The worst thing about having a physical disability is the lack of control I have in life. Everything is very clinical, get up at this time, eat at this time, have a shower at this time, and go to bed at this time. I have no control over these things. This time, I got to do things on my own terms. Second, it was the first time I felt like I was being treated like a sexual being with desires and needs that were important. All my life I have been viewed as an asexual being whose desires should be avoided or neglected. The trip to the brothel taught me not to be afraid of my sexuality and not to push it into the background.
I am now a regular customer, although not as regular as I’d like to be. This is mostly because my brother has moved overseas, and it is hard to find people who will willingly accompany me. However, each time I go, I no longer feel like a cripple. I feel whole.”
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Showgirls
A strip club on Hollywood Boulevard. Follow me on Instagram for more photographs from my life in L.A.
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Just Say No to Robot Strippers
Image credit: Jonathan Tippett
After a break, I am back. Check out my Forbes blog for my deep dive into the world of strip club robot security guards, and while you’re at it, subscribe to my Substack newsletter: The Reverse Cowgirl. A good time, all.
I cover the business of sex | Blog | Forbes | Twitter | Instagram | LinkedIn | Email
I'm Only Happy When It Rains
Strip club, Hollywood, CA (Photo credit: Susannah Breslin)
Check out my latest newsletter at The Reverse Cowgirl:
“They had tattoos and did crazy acrobatics and I think one girl had a tramp stamp that read FUCK YOU or maybe FUCK YOU PAY ME.”
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All the Smut That's Fit to Print
Dancer with money, Las Vegas, Nev. (Photo credit: Susannah Breslin)
A couple new things:
I wrote a Forbes post about a strip club CEO:
“Pandemic? Fuggedaboutit. Two years of dark news, quarantining, and masks have resulted in a surge of consumers who want to go out and have fun. The strip club business may not be pandemic proof, but according to Langan, it’s pandemic resistant.”
I wrote a newsletter about the story behind that story:
"I had forgotten about that fact, and several other details in the piece, like the dancer who made $800 to $1,000 a night who told me: ‘I have a lot of spunk.’”
Don’t forget to subscribe to my newsletter here.
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Get Your Booty to the Poll
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Pussy Valley
I’m watching “P-Valley.” That’s Pussy Valley. A strip club in the Mississippi Delta.
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The Pandemic Hustle
For my latest on my Forbes blog, I interviewed Chase Kelly, who runs Survive the Club and coaches strippers, about how the coronavirus pandemic has impacted the strip club business. Read it here.
An excerpt from “A Strippers’ Coach Reveals How Strippers Are Surviving the Coronavirus Pandemic”:
Dancer, Las Vegas, NV | Photo credit: Susannah Breslin
“Clubs will close, but in their place new clubs will open. I’m not giving up my art form, anyway, so we will have to find a way to make it work. Maybe if we’re lucky, we will see the return of the peep show in the U.S.”
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Where the Girls Entertain
Image via CREXi
Looking to buy a strip club? Look no further than this LinkedIn post. It offers a “Profitable Adult Topless Club” for sale in “Big Texas City, TX.” For $850K, you get 3,500 square feet of “Topless with Full Alcohol Club.” Gross sales were either $780K or $790K last year — it’s not entirely clear. To buy, you’ll need to put a mere 5% down, and if you want to know more, well, you’ve got to sign a nondisclosure agreement.
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The Golden Beaver
On Twitter, I offered up an entrepreneurial question. Hypothetically, were I to open a strip club where all the dancers were 50+, what would I call it? The contenders were COUGARS, OLD MAIDS, and THE GOLDEN BEAVER. To little surprise, the winner is: THE GOLDEN BEAVER. In theory, all dancers would keep 100% of their earnings, the house moms would also be financial advisors, and Jennifer Lopez would be the headliner. Think I’m kidding? Given that MILF is the #4 most-searched-for term on Pornhub, this model was built to scale.
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Hustlers & The Oscars
Vanity Fair’s Mark Harris has a great take on why Jennifer Lopez got shut out of best supporting actress in the Academy Award nominations. According to him, Lopez did everything wrong.
“She dared to play a character who used her sexuality as a professional survival tool and didn’t regret it; she committed the unforgivable sin of being sympathetic and then not; she took her public image and spectacularly amplified and reworked it to suit a complicated character. That is not what Academy voters want from J. Lo. What they want is for her to scrub off her makeup and play a poor mother dying of something who tries to find someone to take care of her kids. They want a role that says, Look how serious I am. Look how willing I am to punish myself for you. That kind of self-abasement has always been something Academy voters love to see from actresses; even if we set aside the grim social implications of that kind of thinking, what remains is a disappointing limitation of vision. The Academy has never been good at looking at a performance like the one Lopez gives in Hustlers and understanding that it is as serious, committed, and carefully crafted as the kind of stuff it usually likes. Actors, of all people, should know better.”
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Men & Strippers
The Swaddle has an interesting piece up on why men go to strip clubs that mentions my 2011 project: “Letters From Men Who Go to Strip Clubs.” The story is called “Men’s Preferences for Strip Clubs Stems from Vulnerability” and sheds some counter-intuitive light on what’s really going on in the half-light.
A brief glimpse into the psyche of the strip club-going man is offered by Susannah Breslin, who set up a blog titled “Letters From Men Who Go To Strip Clubs” in 2011. She collected and compiled submissions from men she deemed authentic and provided a window into their motivations to watch, in the company of other men, women take their clothes off for money. Their reasons included the need for company: “Who else can you talk to? Your business partner? Can’t afford to show weakness. A friend? His wife is friends with your wife so you have to be careful. A therapist? I’ve been trained to walk off a heart attack”; the need for control: “I’m 61 and I like to think this is my revenge for all the beautiful women in the world whom I can’t approach, whom I can’t get. [In strip clubs] I can have some young beauty dance and smile at me anytime I want,” and “Women hit on you all night. Everything is reversed. You, the guy, are pursued”; a need for attention and love: “[the girls] are genuinely interested in me”; and a need to prove their manhood: “to prove I could do it, sit in a testosterone-filled room and pretend the women there wanted to dance for me because I am a man.”
You can read more about The Letters Project here, and you can read the rest of the article here.
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Not a Stripper
Not long ago, I got an email from someone with a company that was trying to hire me to deliver a presentation. But I wasn’t sure what the company was or what the presentation would be about. We went back and forth in email for a bit, and I remained confused. So, she told me to call her. Then she explained that she works for a company that owns all the strip clubs in a major city. After a bit of back and forth, I realized that she thought I was a former dancer, and she wanted me to come in and coach the girls. “Like on etiquette and stuff,” she said. In any case, since I’ve never been a dancer, but only written about dancers and clubs, I emailed her a few names of women who are and/or were dancers and do that sort of coaching. I was never a dancer. I lacked the guts. Much respect to the girls that do.
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Stripperwear Goes Logomania
via Pleasure Zone
Thanks to the always amazing Ecce Homo, I saw this designer dance wear sold by Pleasure Zone in Houston, Texas. There’s also Givenchy, Chanel, Gucci, Off-White, and Supreme. Because nothing says I’m worth it like logomania.
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Valley Girls
Star Garden sounds like a San Fernando Valley strip club worth checking out. It's a dive bar but with dancers. Time Out calls it "'the Jumbo’s hipsters haven’t ruined yet.'" Here's a fun YouTube review by a woman named Moonshine Bonanza.
This Stripper Won Christmas
659 Likes, 16 Comments - Chase Paradise (@strippercomic) on Instagram: "Happy Holidays, butt holes. 🎄❤️🎅🏽"
Chase Paradise, she's a great follow on Instagram here, wins Christmas with a tree and heels.
Memphis Money Wars
36 Likes, 5 Comments - Susannah Breslin (@susannahbreslin) on Instagram: "$1K bundles of singles, to be sold, minus 10%, out of a gym bag at the foot of a strip club stage..."
When I was in Memphis, I visited a black strip club. This Instagram image is from that visit. I will write a post about it, likely this week, probably on my Forbes blog. I wasn't sure whether or not to go to the club. When I asked white people about the neighborhood, they said, don't go there. When I asked black people about the neighborhood, they said, you'll be fine. So, I went. It was really late, and I wasn't sure where the club was. I accidentally walked into the wrong club. The guy behind the bulletproof (?) window where they took the cover charge finally figured out where I was trying to go. They told me to go around the corner. So, you know, I did.
Hustling for Dollars
I did an interesting interview with a veteran stripper who coaches other dancers on how to make more money.
Stripping ain't easy, kids:
"Our work ravages our bodies and many dancers are managing chronic pain without insurance. Like athletes, we often tolerate the intolerable because our options are limited. A good club is worth dealing with the occasional unsavory business."