Category: Opinions

A firsthand experience at a Montreal male strip club

At the ripe old age of 23, I had never been to a strip club. Montreal is filled with clubs promising nude dancers on what seems like every street corner, but the sexual fantasies that these establishments create are catered mainly towards lonely or unsatisfied men looking to drown their problems in a night of debauchery and erotic pleasures.

Having experienced almost every other treat this beautiful city has to offer to the 18+ population, I decided it was time to go through this rite of passage. I grabbed a girlfriend and headed towards the massive crowd of drunkards congregating around Foufounes Électriques, where I spotted our final destination of the night: Le 281.

Funnily enough, the club is actually located at 94 Ste. Catherine St. E., as the establishment was relocated in 2004. I had not imagined that my first strip club would be the country’s only full nude male strip bar for women, but here I was, standing in the entrance lined with red lights and abstract paintings of the male torso.

My expectations of the night were derived from the Magic Mike phenomenon, which consists of muscular dudes performing choreographed dance numbers while unruly women ogle at their oiled up bodies.

Apparently, this is exactly what women of all ages needed to fulfill their concealed sexual desires in a world where their pleasure is so often placed on the backburner. Just this past summer, the second installment of the Magic Mike franchise raked in $167 million at the box office $289 million at the box office according to Box Office Mojo.

Despite the raw and rugged sexuality that the Magic Mike franchise portrays, I imagined the place to have more of a gentlemen’s club feel; women in the audience would be dressed elegantly sipping on champagne, all whilst pretending not to be aroused.

Initially, my impression did not steer far this perceived expectation. A patron escorted us to a table, and being the classy establishment that it is, we were required to tip him for seating us a table with a sub-par view.

Instead of stripper poles, there was a stage with countless topless men strolling through the tables and smiling at you in a way that almost has you believing you’ve genuinely caught their attention.

We ordered a couple of martinis at a modest $8.50 a piece and took in our surroundings. The set featured three minute shows with male dancers in a variety of fantasies ranging from glow-in-the-dark body paint showers, to romantic violin instrumental strip teases. Every few acts, a dancer would invite a lucky lady on stage to fondle and ultimately get dry humped by the man of her dreams. Although the women are strictly prohibited to touch the eye candy even if you pay for a lapdance.   

There was less full frontal nudity than I was expecting until a girl at an adjacent table ordered a lap dance and was met with a throbbing enchilada one inch from her face. When the song was over, I was intrigued by her experience and immediately went over to talk to her.

I had anticipated that most women would take this outlandish situation with a sense of humour, but many were seriously enjoying themselves as chiseled hunks whispered sweet nothings in their ears.

One woman even exclaimed that experience was slightly awkward but she had to get the full experience, for the venue apparently is renowned throughout Montreal.  

What really stuck me about this venue is that contrary to societal norms, men were now being used as objects of sexual gratification in a room full of rowdy and thirsty women.

The role swap was empowering and ultimately allowed women to celebrate their sexuality openly with little judgment, and to enjoy what they may not be getting at home.  Armed with a $20 bill, women could take control of the attention from men.

In my opinion, the experience was definitely a positive one, although the experience can be quite costly. Entrance starts at $8 on Thursday nights tipping is required all night long.

What I originally thought was a place solely for bachelorette parties actually turned out to be a refreshing and liberal atmosphere. A welcome change from a typical night out here in the city.

Employee recounts her experiences at the newly reopened Concordia bar

It’s a bustling Thursday night downtown and students are looking to unwind and take refuge after resuming their studies. On the prowl for cheap drinks, they are drawn towards $3 Pabst cans that always satisfy those on a tight, debt-ridden budget.

They navigate their way through the backwaters of the Hall building until they reach their final destination: Reggie’s. Many have returned to this newly re-opened bar looking for a nostalgic trip down memory lane, considering the bar had been closed for two years.

Renovations began in back in 2013 to completely overhaul the dive bar but the project faced numerous delays. Unconfirmed rumours even swirled online and throughout the student population stating there was asbestos in the ceiling.   

But what is it really like to be a waitress at this student watering hole?

The story all began when a friend forwarded an email to me from the Concordia Student Union —I usually overlook these redundant messages—saying Reggie’s was reopening and looking for staff. I jumped at the opportunity since I’m beginning to experience the early onset of separation anxiety from my beloved Concordia (I’m graduating this spring).

The hiring process was done quickly through the CSU and I was officially hired as a waitress. And now the bar just re-opened. This process took the longest because renovations went took far longer and obtaining a liquor license proved to be quite challenging.

Prior to Reggie’s closing, I had only been to the bar once before when I was a student attending Dawson College.

My memory of this ancient stomping ground was far from positive; the old place was dingy and smelled like damp cement mixed with fermented ale. The atmosphere was so dark on a Thursday night that I felt like I was on an episode of the X-Files and needed a flashlight.

Prancing on the dance floor felt extremely uncomfortable, for as a woman I felt unsafe due to the leering male eyes that stalked from the sidelines as they drank their cheap ale. This experience lead to my swift exit to Mad Hatters down the street, and I ruled out ever going to Reggie’s again.

Since the reopening, everything has changed dramatically. The decor is gorgeous, featuring brighter and more open spaces with uncovered windows and open booths or tables. Reggie’s is definitely still in its adjustment period since its re-opening in December.

Although many students have voiced their complaints about the new decor and pricing saying it’s too fancy and too expensive. Prices have since been adjusted after the manager had informed the CSU that students were very dissatisfied.

Currently the specials of the week are more student friendly. On Wednesdays basic mixed drinks are $4 for a single and $6 for a double. On Fridays there are $3 tequila shots.

The vibe has definitely changed from a dive bar filled with inebriated fools to a more academic and bourgeois scene. I’ve been pleasantly surprised with the difference in the clientele that has come in as well.

In my opinion, the atmosphere feels generally safer and I see a lot more women and members of the LGBTQ frequenting my tables. This marks a change in direction for the bar compared to its infamous past.

My staff at Reggie’s is very welcoming of everyone and wants everyone to have a safe and fun time all together.

Thursdays are bustling since that’s the night most students go out, yet I feel as if the CSU hasn’t given enough advertising or hype to the reopening, resulting in a quieter bar.

When asked if I’ve had any horror stories of patrons getting absolutely trashed, I realized that I’ve never experienced such a thing. Most people come to socialize and the focus isn’t solely on getting drunk. The only con that immediately comes to mind is when individuals forget to tip, which is frustrating.

Overall working at Reggie’s so far has been a positive experience that really serves as a refuge for students who want to remain at the university in a safe and respectful space. The experience has been invaluable and in my opinion and the establishment definitely deserves more hype than it receives.

P.S. Don’t forget to tip your server or bartender.

Antagonizing the average adherent is unlikely to end religious violence extremism

Richard Dawkins, the author of The God Delusion, is all over Twitter. A quick look at his feed reveals that he isn’t just against hateful religious ideology, but religion itself—does that strengthen or weaken his call to oppose religious extremism?

Dawkins has been asking people not to pray probably since his small-minded understanding of religion led him to atheism in his adolescence. His atheistic views are far from what concern me, especially with regards to what happened a couple of weeks ago in Paris. In fact, I often feel that many atheists, whether academic intellectuals or even friends, have a more realistic understanding of how religion operates than the average religious person. I do have a problem, however, with prominent men such as Dawkins trying to tell the world to not pray for Paris.

I want to backtrack a couple of months to U.S. President Barack Obama’s address to the nation following the Oct. 1 Oregon shootings. He said that “prayers are not enough,” which was glorified by the secular activists in America who still remain convinced that Obama is actually a closet atheist. The first thing here that needs to be addressed is that Obama did not discredit prayer. Rather, he said what any normal authority figure would say following an atrocity such as a shooting. That is, to emphasize the necessity of action that should take place.

Secular activists need to understand that while some people use prayer as a substitute for action, that has never been the intention of prayer as described by all the modern religious traditions of the world. In its proper form, prayer should be the tool utilized by those who subscribe to a divine being, which fuels their action to change the world and act in a more proper way. But surprise, surprise, Dawkins will never share that perspective because he is a narcissistic old man who even claims to have no interest in understanding theology. Makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?

Secondly, the fact that Dawkins is hateful towards religion most definitely weakens his call to oppose religious extremism. In fact, it’s hateful views like that which fuel terrorist organizations such as Daesh. We can debate and interpret the meaning of violent passages in the Qur’an, Bible and other sacred texts until the end of time but that will still result in disagreements and won’t solve the issue at hand here, which is terrorism.

The reality is that most religions, such as Islam, are founded on core messages of doing good to others. This is fundamentally why religious traditions of all sorts have continued until today, because they do contain fundamental truths about humanity. Trying to wipe religion off the face of the Earth will never work. Many people have tried and miserably failed. Yet, Dawkins continues to reduce religion to a select few passages in sacred texts.

So what can we do in Western society to combat religious extremism? Well for starters, religious acceptance is key. This doesn’t mean that all religions’ claims to truth are all the same but acknowledging their faith, and their pursuit of truth, with love and respect is necessary. Not to take shots at our French allies, but there’s no denying that French culture hasn’t been the most inclusive to Arabs.

Lastly, we cannot deny that perhaps the most important weapon to combat Daesh and extremism is on the political scene. The political allies of the West are extremely problematic, such as the United States’ alliance with Saudi Arabia, which promotes Wahhabism, underlying ideology that has inspired groups such as Daesh, according to a PBS Frontline investigation.

There are many things that need to happen in order to combat religious extremism, but staying ignorant and being hateful towards other religions is the last thing that would get the job done.

Hurt people hurt people; the cycle of violence has to end somewhere

Ma, me voy a la marcha. Si me ves, no dispares. / Mom, I’m getting off the fence. If you see me, don’t shoot.

I’ve been on the fence forever. I have simultaneously critiqued and engaged in conversations about intersectional feminism, race issues, religious issues, gender and sexuality issues. You name it, I’ve talked about it. I’ve been pro-strike, pro-marches, pro-vigils… but I’ve not attended marches, strikes or vigils. I have my values, thank you very much. They are good values. I value freedom of expression, gender equality, inclusivity, all those wonderful things other people have fought for and have been killed for everywhere.

But I’ve stayed on the fence; I’m an international student but I live in intersections of privilege that could be denied to me by institutions—university, governments, states—if I take a side. Who ever willingly risks their privilege? Why would the struggle of these other people interest someone like me? Why should I care?

About a year ago, I found myself in an uncomfortable position. Everybody around me was talking Palestine, and whenever we spoke, mother, I had to tread lightly because all the voices calling Palestine paled to your round-about way of whispering Israel.

We have family there, you mentioned. My grandmother lived through the Holocaust, you said. Isn’t it time the Jews (I notice you don’t identify as such, mother) got some of their own back, you implied. Think what you want, you said when I whimper Palestine, but don’t forget you are still Jewish. Don’t forget that Israel is surrounded by nations that want her dead, much like my great-grandmother and grandfather were surrounded by those who wanted them dead; Jews have done what they must to survive. So I have paid lip service to values, complained about my privilege, agonized. And I stayed on the fence.

But mother, you were also the one who taught me to respect others’ right to live, no matter how incomprehensible I found them. You quoted often something which went along the lines of: “Someone came to us asking for help, but since they were not us, we ignored it. Someone else did the same, and yet we, since they were not us, ignored them. When they came to destroy us we turned to cry for help, but there was no one left.”

You have told me this my entire life, inadvertently giving me an out, a core reason to care, so please understand, I cannot ignore them; they are us.

And so I find myself dreading to call you, because I’m tired. I just supported a friend challenging my community’s values; I just dealt with a team member for a school project who behaved like an ass because I happened to say that every day Palestinian people are killed, bombed, murdered. They don’t believe Palestine exists, as if death was a matter of belief.

I just got off the fence and I’m tired, wondering how it is that we survive not only knowing but being aware of how people hurt people, everywhere, all the time.

I dread calling you because I’ve finally gotten off the fence about this, and I’m no longer sure your support is unwavering, nor that I’ll walk away from our conversation with my heart unscathed.

But staying on the fence means that no matter how much I might decry gendered violence in all cultures; might oppose environmental destruction; stand in solidarity with First Nations; support teachers, nurses, bus drivers, workers rights to a livable wage; or the right of society—all societies—at large to quality education and health care.

Not matter what else I do, if there is a part of me capable of generally dismissing the commonplace violence done to a people not my own by people who could be my own as irrelevant.

Mother, I’m getting off the fence. Thank you for the safety of my skin tone; for the elite education; for the walls between me and those you thought would do me harm, the walls between them and the very small group, our family, which made up us. Thank you. I cannot stay.

Ma. Me voy a la marcha. Si me ves, no dispares.

Mattel’s flagship doll is trying to expand its market for the first time ever

Barbie has been the best friend to little girls around the world for almost 57 years, but have you ever stopped and wondered what impact the iconic doll has had on boys?

When the new limited edition Moschino Barbie hit the market it sold out in less than a day—but nobody is talking about the doll. Everyone is talking about the commercial, and the little boy who stars in it.

Styled like Moschino’s creative director, designer Jeremy Scott, the boy proudly plays with his doll, exclaims how fierce she is, and ends the commercial with a wink to the camera. The video went viral, and even though the “fauxmercial” won’t be on T.V. anytime soon (it was made for Moschino’s YouTube page), there has been an overwhelmingly positive response on social media praising the progressive new ad.

If you don’t know why this is so important, let me tell you a story.

When I was a child, I was constantly surrounded by girls. I was the youngest, and the only boy, with three older sisters. Between my sisters, my cousins, and their friends, I became accustomed to being the only boy (and quickly got used to hearing “Okay girls, oh, and Marco”). Even though I loved playing with my toy cars and my action figures, I always wanted to play Barbies with my sisters and my cousins. When I was really young, they let me join in, but as I got older, the judgments were more apparent. “Boys don’t play with Barbies,” my parents would tell me, “that’s for girls.”

I don’t blame my parents, they were just trying to protect their little boy, but it definitely left an impression on me. I started feeling ashamed of the fact that I wanted to play with dolls. If I was playing at my cousin’s house, I’d silently pray that she’d suggest playing with her Barbies because I was too embarrassed to bring it up first. Asking for my own Barbie was completely out of the question—I knew I’d just be shot down and shamed for it, so I conveniently kept that off my Christmas list year after year.

As I got older, I was always presented with a variation of the same dreaded question: “Do other boys your age like playing with Barbies? Do other boys like listening to (insert pop diva here)? Why don’t you go play soccer like the other boys?” I felt ashamed by my interests for years, and it all started with being told that boys couldn’t play with Barbies. It wasn’t until my late teens that I realized how ridiculous it was to lie about the things I truly enjoyed—things as trivial as the type of music I listened to or the fact that I’d still kill for my own Barbie doll.

This commercial is going to show a whole generation of little boys that it’s okay to be different, that if you want to play with a Barbie, go ahead and have fun. Unlike me, they won’t have to grow up ashamed of their interests, and they’ll know it’s okay to ask their parents for a doll.

Thankfully society is starting to catch up and realize that, too. Back in August, Target announced that they would no longer be labelling the toys in their stores as “boys” or “girls” and that’s how it should be. There is no such thing as a boy’s toy or a girl’s toy—they’re just toys, and you can play with them regardless of your gender.

I’m still waiting for my own Barbie.