Defining the "Stripper Syndrome"

So, here’s the thing. The title is the eye-catcher and I shamelessly used it to attract your attention.

According to Urban Dictionary the “stripper syndrome” occurs “When a man is completely blinded by a woman’s breasts and does not notice anything else going on around him.” Kudos to the author, but I will not use it that way. I intend to redefine the concept and offer a new explanation of it. Heck, who knows, maybe I’ll coin the term and a graduate student a few years later will research it and cite me.

(Make sure you cite me punk. Otherwise it’s plagiarism)

In my humble opinion, and my knowledge, I would describe the “exotic dancer syndrome” -since that sounds a lot better- as a condition one comes to when you decide to avoid your problems by creating the ultimate distraction.  No need really to paint the picture as to what that distraction might be. It doesn’t necessarily need to literally be an exotic dancer. Fill in the gap with whatever suits you. (Where ever you see “–” use whatever works for you as well) Let’s just say that it will, for a small fee, (monetary if it’s an actual exotic dancer, or something else if your “exotic dancer”-distarction is called by some other name) take your mind somewhere else.

Pick your poison, pick your vice, pick your “exotic dancer”. It matters little. It’s still only a distraction.

Then again, I believe we all need our “exotic dancers”. I have taken up writing as a way to blow off steam, to express emotions, to sometimes kill a feeling, or even give birth to one. And yet Ι need my “exotic dancer” — even though I don’t call it that. It could be a whole summer of vacation, road trips, cocktails, and remote beaches. Or it could be something completely else, something to take my mind off all my anxieties.

Other people deal with their everyday life in a completely different manner. And the “exotic dancer” is a solution. You choose your “name” and “occupation”, you choose what you’ll show and what not, there’s no need for intimacy that is invasive, and no need for a follow up. You “pay” for what you get, and you get what you “pay” for. Nothing more, nothing less.

The perks are that if you play your cards right, the “exotic dancer” has little to no ramifications on your life. But then again, you might get mesmerized, think that you can live with your “vice” of choice and control it all the time.

Chances are that if you allow your “exotic dancer” into your life, your life will not improve. There is a reason I call this “syndrome” as such.

Exotic dancers are supposed to make you feel at home, loved and enjoyed while you’re there at their establishment, and if you get a private dance, well then you’ll feel like you’re the hottest stuff in the world. However once you realize that you are dealing with an honest professional, all you see is a show and that once your time is up, the next customer will be just as special, then the magic is probably gone.

And then you’ll realize that while your distraction was powerful, the exotic dancer was sexy as hell and you had a great time, though nothing really changed in your life. The exotic dancer is still smiling at you, but you got a life and real problems to deal with.

So don’t fall in love with your “exotic dancer”. Recognize what it stands for, and what it does not.

Maybe then you’ll resist its charms more effectively.

Then again, if not, who am I to judge you?