Pole Dancing For Feminists

When I was a teenager I thought pole dance was the most beautiful kind of art. It was exotic in the original sense of the word: foreign, outlandish and magical, but the only way to learn how to do it was for money in sleazy clubs. Mainstream culture was looking good for feminists at the time. Girls were being boys in the make-up-free, doc-martin wearing aesthetic of the Indie scene; boys were being girls through the androgynous pouty bisexuality of Placebo. Grunge unified men and women alike in a love of baggy clothing and coal-chamber logos. On TV we had funky, powerful Buffy kicking vampire ass and Sex and the City made Ann Summers a household name by talking openly about women and sex.

How things have changed. The Versace dress that caused such a stir on Liz Hurley in 1994 would scarcely turn heads these days, what with Christina Aguilera causing a scandal in her underwear on X Factor in 2010 and Rihanna's videos getting ever more pornographic. In addition to all this, learning pole dance, burlesque or strip tease is a de riguer hen night activity, and can be learnt down the gym.

Recently I became a pole dance instructor and also applied for a position with Edinburgh Women's Aid. Fearing, in a pre-interview panic, that my other job would count against me, I thought about the increasing sexualisation of our culture and how I can defend my love of pole in the light of it.  How can I argue for one passionate belief (pole dance is wonderful) without compromising the other (strident feminism)?

Pole dance as I know it is not for money, it's for fun. It's the love of movement, of your body, of your sexuality, and the sheer excitement of going round and round (and if you don't know what I'm talking about, you should try it). Yes, it can be sexy, but your sexuality is part of you and it's nothing to be ashamed of. I wouldn't teach anyone under 18 to pole dance, but a legal adult should be free to express themselves however they like (as long as they're not expressing themselves by punching someone in the face). You can use pole dance to express anger, fear, vulnerability, and playfulness, just as you can use any dance form to express your complex and multi-faceted glory. The narrow vision of sexuality conjured to mind by the words “pole dance” doesn't have to be the reality; I've seen a 30-something banker with a beard rock it on the pole. It doesn't need to have a sexual edge at all – at competition level pole dance is vertical acrobatics; amazing feats of physical strength and skill. Why should that be less impressive just because it's usually women doing it in their underwear?

I hoped when I started pole dancing that it would have a positive impact on the people who try it. That they would feel more confident, get to enjoy their bodies. Because I am not small or athletic, I hoped being taught by me might help them realise that you can revel in your body whatever size you are… a message I struggle with in my daily life, but always feel when I dance. What I didn't expect was that I would have women approach me and tell me that pole classes gave them a space to feel safe in expressing their sexuality. To use the words of one woman, “because of a past experience I feel that to express my sexuality openly, even with my husband, is not safe. Doing this class in a safe environment gave me a chance to experience a side of myself I am usually unable to express.”

Feminism is about freedom and equality, for anyone, regardless of the shape of their genitals. Pole dancing can increase a person's freedom to be their full self without fear of danger. It can help them express their whole wild, angry, sweet, psychedelic, brilliant selves. It can help them learn to feel and enjoy their bodies, it can help them to play. If what you do causes no one harm and sends people out into the world dancing, confident, and joyful, I don't see how feminism can object. Whole, confident women – whole, confident people - is what feminism is all about.