But he is a pimp. He pimps girls into strip clubs and takes 25% of their wages ... before convincing them it's in their best interests to go down an even darker path.
I know first-hand. Twelve years ago, he nearly succeeded in turning me out. And it didn't take very long.
All it took was an audition notice followed by a little bit of seemingly lavish attention. Eight weeks later, I was an Ivy League girl turned casting-couch whore.
And it didn't end because I came to my senses. It ended because my Stripper Pimp dumped me.
But this isn't a story about an evil pimp villain and an innocent damsel in distress. It's a story of an otherwise smart girl who was rife with despair and therefore ripe for the picking; who was brimming with ambition and susceptible to deception; and who was saved from herself by the grace of God and a dumb negro in a clown suit.
Literally.
A dumb negro dressed like a goddamn clown.
My short, sleazy interlude with Stripper Pimp nearly killed me. It nearly destroyed my dream of being an actress. It led to equally short, equally sleazy encounters with other so-called talent agents and managers. And, ultimately, it's one of the main reasons I decided to write this blog.
Hang with me through the next several posts, and I'll walk you through how I met Stripper Pimp and how he was able to get into my head. I'll give you a primer on how to protect yourself or someone you love from some of the most common casting-couch maneuvers. And if that doesn't entice you, I'll give you a really good laugh when I finally spill the beans about me, a strip club and an infamous clown suit.
(Stripper/Casting Couch Diaries Part 1 of 17: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17)
(Stripper/Casting Couch Lessons Learned 1-2: 1 2)
(Stripper/Casting Couch Lessons Learned 1-2: 1 2)
