Index of articles, click
here
Pornography has caused a heated debate in Iceland since an adult film industry conference, which was to be held in Reykjav?k last week, was canceled. Technically, pornography is illegal in Iceland, although the definition of the term seems unclear - some are wondering why stripping is allowed if pornography is banned. Read Sara Blask?s feature on dirty dancing in Iceland that appeared in the most recent issue of Iceland Review.
?Come on, girl!? Dorcile cries out, clad in a black bikini top secured by a string the width of fishing line. ?Give me your best! The legs, the legs, I like the legs!?
She sits on a gray cloth stool in front of the stage where half-drunk flutes of champagne, pink cocktails with bendy draws, and black ashtrays overflowing with red-lipsticked cigarette butts are strewn across the bar like props. The haze of smoke gets thicker as the minute hand inches forward, as the time between dances grows shorter, and as more people pack themselves into Goldfinger, one of the country?s largest strip clubs, on a Friday night at 2:30 a.m.
In front of Dorcile and the two men who?ve taken adjacent stools, a six-foot-tall Portuguese dancer with long black hair moves like a snake from one pole to another. Her tight, black, seatless pants are already lying in a limp pile off to the side of the small stage. She?s wearing a clear plastic bustier and a black thong, and moving her lithe body to the undulating rhythm of PM Dawn?s 1991 hit ?Set Adrift on Memory Bliss? while reaching behind her back slowly ? so slowly ? to unclasp the series of hooks holding the plastic to her toned body.
?Give me the best! Give me your best!? Dorcile cries out again, extending both her arms towards the stage. ?The best!? A handful of other strippers cheer in unison. Some stand, some are busy canoodling on the black leather couches with men who may eventually buy some private time.
The bustier falls to the floor like a piece of fruit leather. With a flick of her six-inch platform heel, she kicks it to a back corner near her pants. Now topless, she grabs the pole and with the strength of an Olympic gymnast, pulls her legs over her head and clutches it between her calves. She contorts her body around the pole, dancing upside down, her breasts facing the bug-eyed voyeurs, the other strippers, the sweaty men, the credit cards, the double wide wallets.
A balding, pudgy man in a pinstripe, long-sleeved shirt swaggers to the far right stool in front of the stage. He sets down a nearly kicked bottle of Mo?t & Chandon, barely managing to keep his head above his shoulders. Ruffling in his back pocket, he pulls an ISK 1,000 bill (USD 14) from his wallet.
There are hoots and hollers. Whistles. People clap like they?re watching a Real Madrid match. The stage shakes from the bass of the freezer-sized speakers hanging from the ceiling. All eyes, mostly men, but also other strippers lazing sexily over on the couches, and a handful of couples, are glued on the topless dancer in the wafer-thin thong.
She somersaults from the pole, landing squarely on her heels, and dissolves to her knees, where she writhes on the floor on all fours. The X-rated dance quickly morphs into a XX as she forcefully thrusts her hips in sync with the music. The crowd roars.
She rises again to her feet, inching towards the back of the stage. With dexterity she removes her underwear while bending at the waist while the music begins to fade. Now doubled over, her long hair hangs upside down, shielding her naked bottom half from the audience. The underwear falls to the floor, the song ends, and just as quickly as the dance began, she scoops up her clothes, her money, and disappears behind the thick red curtain.
Dorcile?s long, curly hair hangs halfway down her back. She takes a sip from her white wine, leaving behind a thin film of light pink lip gloss, and turns in her stool. ?You know, I like to dance Friday nights. I want to have energy when I dance. When there are a lot of people, I have energy,? she says.
The DJ calls her name.
Dorcile has worked the stage and the laps of yearning men for six years. Five in Reykjav?k, one in Amsterdam. She?s Caribbean, speaks four languages, has a degree in social work, an Icelandic partner of four years, and two children. She won?t disclose her exact age, but is around 40. For confidentiality, her name has been changed.
She emerges from behind the red curtain as an explosive track from Puerto Rican salsa king Tito Puente erupts through the speakers. Her movements are so quick and so precise that her petite 5?2?, 105 pound frame ? elongated with the help of six-inch gold platform heels, size 35 ? is almost blurred.
?One man who comes in doesn?t like it when I dance because sometimes I?m more busy dancing to salsa than I am taking off my clothes,? she told me during the week I spent visiting her at Goldfinger. ?I tell him, ?Look, I was so deep into salsa that I forgot.? Because salsa, you know, is salsa.?
Dancing has revved Dorcile?s spirit since she started ballet at age nine. By 13, ballet had turned into jazz ballet (?a little more legs up, the ballroom, the salsa, the cha cha cha?), and by 27 she won the only salsa contest she entered. She taught salsa ? clothes on ? in the Caribbean, and moved to Amsterdam (her native island is one of the Dutch Antilles) in 1990 to take her trade on the road.
?I never thought growing up that I would become a stripper,? she said. ?Not until I tried it.? Dorcile had been giving private salsa lessons from her home in Amsterdam when one of her clients told her about a club where she had been working and suggested she try it. She said there was loads of money to be made.
Which there was. And is.
?I have my education in social work, but the reason why I?m here is because I can make more money this way, faster, so I can finish earlier, leave with my family, and make my life again in the Caribbean,? Dorcile says. ?We?ll leave when we don?t have to worry anymore. You have to work to get what you want.? She hopes this will be by January 2008, and in the meantime will continue to send money every month to her mother and son in the Caribbean.
Goldfinger is tucked among seedy car repair shops and construction supply warehouses in a drab section of Kopavogur, a suburb near the city. It opened in December 2000 and is owned by ?sgeir Th?r Dav?dsson, a charismatic, fast-talking guy with affinities for women, whiskey and cars. He alternates between his black Lincoln Navigator and 1991 Rolls Royce, and also owns a Hummer limo, used for his other business venture, Goldfinger Limo.
Geiri, as everyone calls him, sits in his office behind a thick oak desk in an overstuffed maroon leather chair. On his desk is a pile of papers, an ashtray flooded with yellow butts, a nude calendar from 1995, and on the adjacent windowsill, sandwiched between a desk organizer and two staplers, is an eight-inch high stack of white, folded paper towels.
A gold chain hangs around the neck of his well-padded frame, and his shirt is always tucked in. He has seven children by four women of three nationalities, and is a man rarely seen without his Bluetooth earpiece.
?Look, this is a lifestyle they choose,? says Dav?dsson, 55, tapping a Mont Blanc pen on the desk. ?This is money, you know, this is all for money. All girls that come to Iceland have the option to work in fish for USD 1,500 a month. This is a very well-paid job everywhere in the world. I don?t find anything wrong with it.?
Strip clubs didn?t even exist in Iceland before 1995. But once they arrived, they boomed like new oil reserves in Abu Dhabi. Today, as they become ever further embedded in Icelandic society, a backlash has been developing against the industry, which opponents argue is flagrantly profane, and can lead to prostitution and human trafficking. As the scene continues to gain traction, it remains relatively unchecked and more women like Dorcile are moving to Iceland, if only for a couple months, where there are big bucks to be made.
It?s impossible to calculate how many exotic dancers there are in the country since they come and go so quickly. Dav?dsson estimates that he sees roughly 100 women in a year, while the owner of the Champagne Club in downtown Reykjav?k estimates he employs nearly 70 women during the year. At the moment, there are six major clubs in the city (some of which are called ?champagne clubs?) and the industry appears to be growing and reshaping itself, partially with a nod to new immigration laws that allow people to flow more freely.
?The exploitation of women seems to be uncontrollable, and then again, no one is trying to control it,? says feminist and politico Dr?fa Snaedal, who conducted extensive research in 2003 about the economics of Iceland?s sex industry. ?We have all the laws to address the problem, but there?s no will to do anything about it. It?s not looked at as a serious problem.?
Dav?dsson says a ?normal? month for one of his employees is USD 6,000. A ?good? month is up to USD 20,000, and some ?much more than that.? He cites a possible figure of up to USD 50,000 a month. And that doesn?t include tips. Dorcile declines to disclose her income.
Dav?dsson prides himself on the culture of respect and privacy he cultivates among his employees. He doesn?t test the women for drug usage, although he admits it?s ?very hard to see if the girls are on drugs.? If caught, they?re confronted and often given the boot unless they can kick the habit. He does, however, randomly drug test the men who work at the club ? the bartenders, the guys at the coat checks, the bouncers. ?So I don?t have to have the police up my ass because of drugs,? he says.
Why the discrepancy in treatment? He pauses. ?Everybody would be mad if I [drug tested the women]. These girls are sensitive if they have the feeling that I don?t trust them.?
All-night shifts can take their toll. Dorcile?s nights begin at 9 p.m., after she tucks her daughter into bed, and end as late as 6 a.m. Or later. 7 a.m. 8 a.m. Six, sometimes seven days a week. When asked about her vices, Dorcile holds up her cigarette and wine glass, adding that sometimes her nights don?t end until she?s consumed as many as three bottles of champagne.
?Especially in the beginning it was difficult. This work is not easy, not easy. Your body. You feel, sometimes you see customers come in and you know you should walk up to them ? say ?Hi, how are you, my name is this, what is your name?? ? but it?s like you?re just too tired to stand up. You just think, ?Oh my god.??
In Holland, Dorcile started ?slowly? ? at first just on weekends, but soon it became a full-time job. It wasn?t until she had been working a year or so when another stripper told her that she?d been to Iceland and thought she should try it there.
?She said the conditions were better and that they like dark skin,? Dorcile said. She spent several months off and on in the country before deciding to move permanently. The first club where she worked is now defunct, and in July 2001, she began working the poles at Goldfinger.
Index of articles, click
here
Walter McIntyre
4400 NW 87 Avenue Miami, Florida 33178
