Welcome back, students. Assuming you've done your homework, let's continue (if not, pick up an old issue or check out the archive at xmag.com).
Rule 4: You May Never Know Which Customer Has the Most Money
Earlier in this series, I noted that it's usually possible to profile a crowd when guessing what types of music they will appreciate. Of course, there are always exceptions to the rule, but more often than not, a table full of Portland-presenting white guys dressed like loggers who can't lift wood are into indie rock. It's not racist to assume the old, black dude might enjoy Bill Withers more than he does Cannibal Corpse (not always, but humor me here), nor is it homophobic to guess that a table full of gay dudes supporting their girlfriend at work would prefer Bronski Beat over Kid Rock. You may be wrong, exceptions to the rule exist, yadda yadda, but a glance and a vibe check will usually do the trick where song choice is concerned.
Although profiling works with music, it absolutely, positively, does not work where money is the target—you can work these clubs until you're well into your thirties or beyond, and still not be able to figure out why some big spenders look like they just crawled out of a dumpster. And, on the flipside, there are more fake ballers than there are big spenders. The faux-hustler isn't just limited to the scammers and trust-me-bros of Instagram-suggested reels (maybe it's just me, as I have neither risen nor ground as a result of these ads, yet the rented, yellow Lambos next to ethnically ambiguous guy-in-a-suit images haunt my feed to this day). With the rare exception of bachelor parties and dudes looking to get robbed in the alley, in the strip club world, there is no correlation between suits and money.
If you want to make bank in a busy club, accept the fact that you have absolutely no idea who has your rent money in their pocket, and knock on as many metaphorical doors as you can. Dress like a Girl Scout if you have to. Smile at the awkward dude. Wink at the weekend lesbian. Embrace low-pressure sales and make every customer you bump into feel like you're not just trying to take their money (because, you are trying to take their money, but you work in a postmodern dystopia, in which our understanding of psychology is used to milk people out of their capital). Find a nice balance between cold shoulders and pornstar acting—don't ignore anyone, but also don't pander.
To help ease you in your quest for riches, let me explain the four basic archetypes of money-having-men in strip clubs (I am not saying to ignore women, in fact, they can be some of your best customers—I'm just speaking for the majority, as a result of both shameful experience and observational pity, having worked in these clubs for eleven and a half decades in DJ years).
The Fool
Okay, maybe take back everything I said at the beginning about not profiling people. It's okay to profile The Fool. First to get told to put his phone away, last to stop flashing his cash, The Fool is an obvious mark. The trick with this dude is not to waste a ton of time. Approach with a hard sell and a touch of snark. “Are you just gonna wave that brick of ones around, or are you gonna make it rain?” Giggle at his shoes. Ask what decade his iPhone came out in. Be nice, be funny, but lean more on the roast/drag angle of your at-work persona until you've milked the moment. Think of The Fool like those coin boxes in Mario games. When they stop producing coins, move on. If they want any more of your attention, they will make it clear by, well, acting a “fool,” and throwing cash when you're on stage again.
The Stealth Bomber
This guy is low-key, and he's fucking loaded. Where The Fool leads with his money, The Stealth Bomber is smart enough to know that he shouldn't flaunt his wealth, similar to the “Bill Gates drives a shitbox” wisdom that can keep dudes from becoming marks. Perhaps this person fell into an inheritance, perhaps they just got done serving time for wire fraud, or perhaps they just forgot that they bought all that Dogecoin years ago, and checked their Coinbase app by accident while taking a piss, nearly dropping their phone into the urinal upon realizing they're rich all of a sudden.
The Stealth Bomber may be smart with concealing his money, but if he just fell into it, he's not going to be tight with it. The male instinct to spread seed extends to the wallet. So, your job as a dancer is to make small talk. Men have three, maybe four interests, tops. Once I've let a girl know my feelings on college (scam), politics (scam), and the Federal Reserve (scam), I might mention firearms before drawing a complete blank and sharing whatever the latest goings-on in my life are. This is how you sus out a Stealth Bomber—he will tell you. And not in that “I'm going to drop hints like sprinkles of salt until you put them together into a cube” woman way of telling you something, but in a dumber, less covert, “So, are you like, into finance?” male kind of way. And your response should be, “I'd love to hear you tell me about it over a dance.” Once the dance is done, don't let the other girls know. Become a Stealth Bomberette, and this guy will return for dances again and again, throughout the night.
Tourists
My buddy got thrown out of a strip club in Idaho because he asked a dancer to take off her top. Apparently, that's a no-no in the land of potatoes. Then, the same guy went to Canada and got teased by a Canadian stripper because he wasn't touching her while she was naked during a dance. Apparently, touching is mandatory in the land of maple syrup. The rules regarding what flies here may or may not fly there. Potatoes and maple syrup don't mix, unless the potatoes get really hot first. I don't know where I'm going with this analogy.
Oh, this was it: if you have a group of tourists (or a solo traveler) who appear(s) to be breaking (or simply unaware of the) rules, don't rush to assumptions. Oftentimes, the people who don't know how to tip aren't complete idiots who hate strippers—perhaps the DJ is just reminding them to do so in a language they don't speak. Perhaps they think the establishment is a pay-for-private, watch-at-stage scenario. Some clubs (Kit Kat and Sassy's come to mind) have great security who remind incoming customers of the rules, and take extra time to give a run-down to foreigners. But that's the bouncer doing extra, and not something that happens everywhere, all the time. Therefore, it is your job to do what every single country on the planet does and find a way to rob tourists while smiling, making them feel like they are making a worthwhile purchase.
One can assume that people who travel to Portland aren't doing so to find the best downtown school to leave their kids at all day. I imagine it's more of a Temu Vegas scenario, whether The Hangover or Leaving Las Vegas in nature, with a ton of money being dropped either way. The best way to win over the tourist crowd is to play up whatever impression they have of you. Sometimes, it's the quirk and the donut dust. Other times, it's the full nudity. Find out whatever we can do here that they can't do there, and do that thing. It's not vegan nachos that bankrupt the vacationing bachelors stumbling out of Casa Diablo at bar-thirty while ignoring texts from their bank-account-noticing wives. It's the entertainment. And thankfully, most bands now charge fuck-you-nintey-nine (plus fees) for live shows, so smart tourists have a cover story to account for spent funds (if they can just remember how to pronounce “Arlene Schnitzer”).
Soon-to-Be-Divorced Guys
A lot of men are on their way to divorce. Some know they are, others are currently too busy forgetting birthdays and banging babysitters. Whatever your preferred flavor of busted unc, divorce is the worst and most expensive thing that can happen to a man, outside of Bangkok. Whatever amount of heartbreak or financial ruin you intend on bringing into this guy's night off is nothing compared to his upcoming nightmare with the courts, banks, and some bitch named Barbara, whom you will inevitably hear about during a private dance.
This means that he's not only willing to spend money he doesn't have on a woman who doesn't love him in return, but he's built for it. You could be the most mediocre dancer on stage, forget makeup, use dollar store hygiene products, and still be more attractive to the STBDG than the woman he's trying to forget. This dude might start slow, with a few dollars here and there, but so did his marriage. If he were good with money and knew how to say “no” to women, he wouldn't be getting divorced. Plus, in the back of his head, he knows that courts will determine his alimony/support payments based on income and savings. So, the more money he “loses in a boating accident” during his time at The Sticky Kitten, the less his upcoming payments to Barbara will be. Every dollar you take from STBDG is a dollar that doesn't go to Barbara. Fuck Barbara.
