I first heard about Suicide Girls when I was in college. It was a much smaller community back then, only a few hundred ladies worldwide, but there was a goddamn fierceness about it that caught my eye. Beautiful women of all shapes, sizes, and colors, having fun, embracing their figures, owning their sexuality. Their confidence oozed out of every pore. I wanted to know more about them. I wanted to be friends with them. I sensed a kinship, and I knew that I had found my tribe.
There was an audition for the burlesque troupe back in 2005. I had no prior burlesque experience, and my dancing was awkward at best. The same core moves recycled over and over, only adjusting the intensity of the movement to match the tempo of the music. I had also never stripped for anyone that wasn’t a lover. And while I had fun with that, all the positive affirmations I’ve received wasn’t because of how graceful I was; it was because I’d teased them enough and they wanted to move on to the next step. Plus, a partner telling you you’re sexy is as obligatory as your family telling you that you’re handsome/beautiful. Regardless, I wanted to audition. The idea of traveling the country with a group of badass women sounded like what I was looking for. I was about to graduate college. I had just ended a serious, long-term relationship. I wasn’t ready to move back home, start a career, the rest of a potentially boring life. I wanted to be young, careless. I wanted to see more of the world and create memories that would absolutely mortify future grandchildren. Suicide Girls held that beacon of light.
I showed up for the audition. I had a few smallish tattoos, my hair was black and messy, I wasn’t fit but I knew that confidence would shine louder than anything. I wore a sexy Clockwork Orange inspired outfit — white tight crop tank, white suspenders, white mini-skirt, black fishnet thigh highs, garter belt, black boots, and a black bowler hat. Nerves started to strike as soon as I parked my car, but I was determined to make an impression. I took a deep breath and entered the club.
Inside, I was greeted by a heavily tattooed woman. She led me through the club, past a dark, seedy booth filled with men and women, past another booth with a couple of attractive ladies enjoying their conversation, past the stage, through the back door where I was introduced to Reagan Suicide, the lady who would take my picture and interview me for the audition. She snapped a polaroid of me, asked a few questions, and wished me luck on my audition through a gentle smile. I was led back inside and told to wait till the bosses were ready to start.
Being the newb without an actual SG profile yet, I, of course, was selected to go first. I handed my CD to the DJ, grabbed my baseball bat, and strode toward the stage. I stood in the spotlight waiting for my song to start. There was a woman with pink hair holding a video camera, poised in the center of the floor, focusing in on me on stage. The silence felt eternal and awkward, and finally someone said, “is the volume up?” I heard the DJ say something and suddenly, the song I planned on dancing to blared through the speakers. Strict Machine by Goldfrapp. I gripped my bat and started my routine.
I moved throughout the stage. I danced around the bat, rubbed it against my body, and looked at everyone at the club as though I was going to eat their souls for lunch. I ripped my shirt open to expose the black electric tape x’s covering my nipples. I slid out of my mini skirt and shook my ass for the bosses. The thong that my friends voted for the audition felt lose against my body. Strange breezes crept in, and I chuckled at the thought that given the right angle, a lot of people probably just saw my vagina. But I danced until the song was over, quickly bowed, squeaked out a quick thank you, scooped up my discarded clothing, and walked off the stage. Arms full, I headed toward my bag for a change of clothing. A gorgeous woman ran up to me, grinning from ear to ear. She called me adorable and wrapped her arms around me. I blushed. She sat next me to watch the rest of the auditions. Her name was Zoli Suicide and she was visiting Los Angeles from Las Vegas. Talking with her felt like connecting with a long-time friend. We instantly clicked and being around her felt comfortable. At that moment, I knew I had to be a Suicide Girl.
The audition ended up being a bust. The burlesque troupe decided to go on hiatus for a few years, BUT I was contacted by their model coordinator and asked if I was interested in modeling for them. I was put in touch with one of their local staff photographers and set the date for my first official Suicide Girls photoshoot.
photo by Darryl Darko
STAY TUNED FOR PART 2!!!
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Tiffany Scandal’s new audiobook Jigsaw Youth is out now everywhere and narrated by the author herself. Get it and weep.
