On a steaming hot Saturday afternoon, I collected bits and pieces of my insecurities and burned them into a smoking blaze. The story began on a rainy Friday when I first learned from a friend about the Silk Room, the burlesque school in Shanghai. I soon found myself sitting inside a theater box for the quarterly show they put on. My live burlesque audience experience was officially initiated, never did I know that it also heralded my first ever burlesque dancing class at the “Flirting with Burlesque” workshop.

Burlesque is nevertheless not alien to me. Back when I was a secret theater geek in high school, Chicago the musical was my guilty pleasure and "All that Jazz" my jam. I remember blood rushed to my face when I first saw the “Cell Block Tango” number. An unnamed tiny creature inside me was stirred. That was probably the moment of my “spring awakening,” a bit late but wholesome, when I was swept into the feminine paradox: how innocently fatal and delicately powerful it could be, something that I never discovered in my 16-year-old body, and am still exploring after a decade. 

That was also the watershed moment instigating my ongoing infatuation for dance and any kinds of performance engaging the body. To me, dance is the most primitive art form. Before the invention of any tools, the body was the basic unit to explore and establish an almost spiritual rapport with the physical surroundings. Since then, I tried out almost every dance class I could get my hands on. 

And here I stand again in front of a wall of mirrors on the ivory dance floor kissed by the sunlight. Feeling bubbly inside, I looked around, everyone’s faint aura of fidgeting excitement shimmered in the air. After all, we were a bunch of burlesque newbies with a shared experience of not knowing what to wear for the class. I, for example, was rummaging desperately through my closet at the last minute for some one-piece that could be easily removed later. The only one I owned seemed to me only appropriate in the bedroom. Thinking about wearing it in front of strangers paints a tinge of ruby on my face. I put on my workout clothes over the one-piece, grabbed a wrinkly white shirt, and decided not to challenge my courage today. 

And what a gratifying surprise when I later found out that this was a dance class as much as a feel-good session, where I got to know myself in a creative way.  

The class was kicked off with a stage name workshop. It is crucial to have a stage character crafted out, as our lovely instructor K explained with her charming Irish accent, because burlesque brings out much more than alluring dancing itself. The word “burlesque” comes from Italian and it means “mockery.” Traditionally, burlesque is both provocative and comedic by taking the forms of a parody as well as a political satire. At the end of the day, burlesque is a theatrical performance that is keen on building a chemistry between the performers and the audience. This is cool. Burlesque might be an alternative train I could board to become a comedian, a secret dream I always had. 

The process of coming up with a stage name was similar to a creative writing exercise. Every one of us was handed a piece of paper to write down our answers to each of the questions. After each question, we would pass the paper to the person sitting next to us. In the end, we could get back our original paper with a list of words, and picked a combo to be the name that spoke to you. The questions ranged from “favorite cocktail,” “spirit animal” to “favorite body part”and “favorite utensil.” I was immediately thrown to my comfort zone, as brainstorming names and tag lines has been my all-time passion since fourth grade. Plus, what is more entertaining as well as liberating than creating a name for your own self? My list was an interesting mix of quirky and sweet terms, while others’ seemed a tad more kinky — “Touch ma Fanny” and “Biatch Royale” are the two names of my fellow classmates I remember clearly— burlesquely classic for obvious reasons but somehow wishy-washy to me. I was debating between “Empress Colada” and “Rocky Daffodil.” The latter was my final choice. I had a hard time imagining myself as an empress but could totally see myself wearing a leather skirt and a daffodil in my hair on stage: edgy but tacky, sounded like me. My face lit up as I firmly believed I got the best name. Funny, the scientific name of daffodil happens to be Narcissus. What a perfect fit!

Then followed the real business: the dancing and a lot of it. According to K, there are two styles in burlesque choreography—the classic style and the commercial style. Classic burlesque is similar to cabaret dance, which mixes and matches myriad typical burlesque dance moves including shimmies, grinding, bumping, body rolls and all that jazz. It is playful, sexy, classy, and “Dita Von Teesey.” Commercial burlesque brings a modern flair to the game. Inspired by Beyoncé, the choreography borrows a mash-up of jazz and hiphop elements and hence gives off a “Single Ladies” vibe. We were going to tap into both in the class, and by doing so, we started off with learning how to do the classic burlesque walk. It turned out walking might just be more challenging than the actual dance moves for me. 

The key for the burlesque showgirl walk is to put a little sway while you strut, which reminded me of an exaggerated catwalk. Watching K walking the graceful walk is a true delight. When I was set off to do it, I felt ridiculously unbalanced like a five-year-old walking in her mom’s heels. It does not matter though. The spirit of burlesque is to keep your head held high despite that you might look like a penguin. Walk it as if you own it. 

“Own it” is the ultimate term to sum it all. The dance moves per se, from the basic Charleston steps to the floor combo for the commercial styled burlesque, were quite easy given I had learned these in my Lindy Hop and jazz classes before. Burlesque, however, was unlike any of my previous dance experiences. I had always treated dance as a “mini-vacation,” an introspective and magical time during which I could exclude anything from entering my head except for me and myself; it is a full-body experience that gets all the cogs turning at the same time: The brain is enlisted to memorize all the moves, while syncing with the body to develop a fluid mind-muscle coordination, carried out in a visually pleasant movement constellation. Burlesque, on the other side of the coin, is loud and outward. It is to expose what you are thinking within, plus more of your skin of course, to communicate to the outside world, and scream for undivided attentions. With this purpose in mind, dancers are supposed to magnify every move to lure the audience into their glamor.

I immediately had a flashback: summer in 2013, Champ de Mars, Tango. As a diehard tango fan, my French host mom took me to one of the hundreds of dance parties in Paris when the night began to fall. With Eiffel Tower in the coral twilight on the background, men with shiny dress shoes invited women in floral dresses to the dance floor, and they were set about to sway and twirl, unveiling an unspoken game of attraction. My host mom sat elegantly in a corner, browsing the crowd, and set eyes on a gentleman in a linen dance suit who was also looking for a dance partner. 

“He’s cute.” She whispered to me.

“Why don’t you go ask him to dance?” I felt obliged to give her a push as if I were her wingwoman. 

“Non non puh you don’t do that, never do that!” She turned to me with her eyebrows tilted, “Remember this, you don’t ask a man out. You send him signals. You give him the eye.” 

That was probably the only dating advice I have ever received in my life so far from a parental figure, and never did I expect that I would take this advice à la française into a burlesque class many years later. Same for burlesque, less subtle though, it is also about sending out signals loaded with sexual energy. We were each encouraged to find a favorite body part on us, accentuate it, touch it along with some body rolls and grinding, and pose with it as if we “own it.” Since this was our first class, we kept it PG and only learned to remove a garter, a pair of gloves, and a shirt, but burlesque does not necessarily feature a striptease. It is, however, a tease after all. Dancers tease the audience by playing on uncertainties and imposing suspenses. You will be intrigued to ask: what is she going to do next? Is she going to take that off? In this sense, burlesque is a compressed piece of reality on stage: sometimes it is the uncertainties that are tormenting but most exciting and deliciously risky.

I soon found myself opened up, mostly because I was with a roomful of confident, supportive, and lively ladies not afraid of expressing themselves. Everyone with a different and unique body shape was exploring her best angle in the mirror. Like everyone else, I plunged into the appreciation of my own body, my arms, my hips and many other of my favorite bits. Free of judgements in any form, it limned an empowering image in the room. I’ve always believed that confidence is the most stunning outfit anyone could don, and there is hardly anything more attractive than owning your body with every tiny detail that comes with it. I loved that burlesque was not only for girls with perfect feminine curves and toned stockinged legs, but for everyone to embrace his or her perfect imperfections. 

I came into the class hiding my one-piece under my clothes, and I left the class, well, still with it intact underneath. I did feel greatly inspired and sexy upon my leaving, but I understood it took more time for me to show my body with abandon. Thanks to the class, I learned more about myself and came to adore my body even more. Perhaps next time I would be courageous enough to unload all my insecurities, and even perform on stage someday.