I was almost on empty, so I stopped to fill up. I leaned up against the gas pump as I waited, brushing my hair out of my eyes – courtesy the lovely breeze. There was a bit of a commotion between the two muscle heads from the next pump over.
“Oh my God, are you Jezebelle?” One of them yelled as he ran over. His partner in crime followed a little more quietly and slowly.
I smiled, and soaked in the celebrity moment. We exchanged some small talk, I refused their phone number, but let them pay for my gas before getting a commitment to see me in the club this weekend. I got in my car, still smiling, soaking in the affirmation that I yearned for. The reality is, those guys just wanted to get laid, but to me, they gave me the approval that I have never had.
It’s that wonderful feeling. Something we all crave at one time or another. Better than the money, more fun than dancing, and not even comparable to the joys of buying shoes or cute outfits. Being the best, being the most sought after, the most wanted, the most approved of, the most shown off, the highest on the totem pole. I want it all.
After accomplishing a small feat, a young child will promptly run to their parent for approval, and praise. We are wired to seek approval of others, some more than others. I crave approval on a larger scale than your average Joe. I want everyone to love me. I am a pleaser.
Once the feeling of affirmation sets in, confidence and then power follow. I felt most powerful when I was on stage with a pressed crowd. I loved having men willing to spend hundreds of dollars just for a handful of minutes spent with me. I loved the looks on their faces, the complements flowing from their mouths, the sweet little lies they told me, the loyal customers that only wanted me, that claimed no one else could compare.
This was more than a job, this was a void that I had tried to fill for a long time, now being filled. It changed my life, Jezebelle gave me power and worth. Not only did it give me the affirmation I had been looking for from men, but it also gave me a sense that I was better than the rest. I was a clean dancer, I never did anything for money other than dance, I never did any drugs, and I didnt sleep with the managers or bouncers. I was better than the other dancers because of this. I was impossible to stay clean for so long in an environment like that. I was stronger and smarter than all those bimbo strippers, and I looked amazing without surgery. I was the best.
I was disillusioned.