Some people got mad at me tonight about some perceived stereotypes re: stripping/exotic dancing in my last post. I feel a little shitty about that, because it's clear (or it should be) that I have like, nooooooo fucking idea what I'm talking about.
Like, none. Ever.
I actually love it when people call me out on my shit and offer constructive criticism. Trying and failing to get me fired in real life was a bridge too far, I'll say--but constructive criticism, I love.
I learn the most about myself and other people when they call me out on my shit. Tonight I went to a presentation where the concept of privilege was discussed. When people are called upon to "check their privilege," it can be a little bit of a defensive moment where the person feels victimized and forced into "PC" mode or something.
But I never feel that way. There's a fine line between funny and mean, and because that line is inherently subjective, it's kind of impossible not to cross it sometimes. I do my best, but I don't always succeed.
Every time someone gets mad at me for something I write, which is often, I welcome it as an opportunity to reflect back and ask myself if the criticism is well-deserved. Sometimes I agree it is and sometimes I don't, but I always welcome it because I always learn from it.
In this particular case, it should be clear I don't have the first clue about the stripper arts and I am certainly not knocking the profession. I welcome all the lawyer jokes in the world, believe me. No one makes more lawyer jokes than me, believe me. And no one thinks I'm lamer than myself, believe me.
Now I sound like Trump. But you get the idea.
I mean, for fuck's sake. I pretend to be a badass feminist by singing P!nk lyrics in the car at the top of my lungs. "JUST LIKE FIRE BURNIN UP THE WAY IF I COULD LIGHT THE WORLD UP FOR JUST ONE DAY WATCH THIS MADNESS COLORFUL CHARADE NO ONE CAN BE JUST LIKE ME ANY--"