A stripper’s entire income is from tips and tips alone. We are not paid a salary, nor are we unionized. We have magic areolae and the most delectable body odor that hypnotizes men (and the occasional woman) into giving us money.
It’s a careful science of greed, manipulation, blinking, booze and chess.
Are you ready to get rich or look sorta-good-but-mostly-ridiculous tryin’?
The First Rule of Tipping is YOU DON’T TALK ABOUT TIPPING
If you utter word ‘tip’ - and you’re not talking about the head of his cock - you’re fucked.
So, unless you have one of those Men-In-Black memory erasers, give up now and move on to the next Wallet so you can start over.
Blink, bark, giggle, shimmy or squeal. Whatever you do, don’t act like a woman who knows what she’s doing (read: making money). People who seek out entertainment from pretty, impressionable and needy young women (read: most men) like it when things are ‘their idea.’
The only amendment to Rule #1 is when you’re engaged with a sub. If you’re towering over some naked, pink and sweaty Wallet who’s lying on the floor tethered to a toilet with his own belt, you have some liberties with making explicit use of the word ‘TIP.’
eg. 1. Tip me for wasting my time watching you lick that shit-spattered toilet seat, you lousy fuck. 2. Give me a tip right now or I’ll send these photos to your in-laws. 3. I am a Goddess and you are shit. Tip me.
In this particular situation, demands for your personal financial gain are permissible and encouraged. But, try as I might, I am not a pro-domme and any Wallet who fancies himself a ‘sub’ in a strip club is usually a lying and manipulative sociopath.
The Second Rule of Tipping: It’s a fucking crap shoot
I am usually too drunk to properly ascertain what sort of shenanigans are going to turn a profit and which ones will make everyone wish they stayed home to watch New York Minute.
2.1 Act relentlessly dumb!
I call this strategy ‘Daddy Logic.’ When exercising this tactic, you need to remember that being Dumb is equally as important as being Relentless.
Imagine you’re Cher Horowitz. Your client is bumbling and angry. Twirl your hair and ask him point-blank - in your cheesiest baby voice - for “a present.” If he ignores you, try again three minutes later. If that fails, try again ninety seconds later. Blink and giggle at random intervals - ideally mid-sentence.
Flip hair and repeat.
Eventually Daddy will give in or at least give you money to leave him the fuck alone.
2.2 Act ‘Exotic’
Women seem less real when they appear to be from a far away place. Since your job is to be totally fake, slap on a shitty accent and start talking about ‘sexy time.’ Seriously which porno did this fantasy come from because it’s UBIQUITOUS.
*Just make sure you know where the money is coming from first before you pick your Amazonian wetland home country. I’ve been busted more times than I can count for being like, This guy looks Japanese so he totally won’t speak French. Guess what? FRANCE IS PRETTY MULTICULTURAL.
2.3 Act crazy!
Just do it. Make animal noises. Talk about sciencey theories that are seven light years away from being proven. Fart. It’s jarring and freaky and therefore ENTERTAINING. You are, after all, an entertainer.
2.4 Act hyper-intelligent!
This tactic is overrated. It usually ends up intimidating the Wallet so much that he gets uncomfortable about paying you for anything - because a real woman in charge of her body and how she chooses to use it is totally weird and unfathomable. Be sensitive to the discomfort he may be experiencing: He just came in for a few Buds and some titties! Not real women!
At this point abandon 2.4 and return to the Exotic or Dumb or Both Trope; it’s easier to extract pity money than I-respect-your-time-and-choices money.
Whatever you do, don’t act normal. Normal never gets preferential treatment.
Review of Rule Number Two: The Crapshoot
I’ve done a headstand, buck naked, legs spread into a glorious straddle - and everyone sat and stared in grief-stricken horror (maybe my tampon string was sticking out?). No one tipped a goddamn dollar.
Another time, this guy told me he just got back from Arianna Huffington’s daughter’s art show. As if this couldn’t sound any more bourgeois, I immediately started making fun of him in my very best Ms. Huffington impersonation. He proceeded to tip me $300. It wasn’t even my impersonation. I stole it from Nasim Pedrad via SNL. (Thanks, girl)
So you never fucking know. All I can really say is that playing it safe with pleasantries and lamenting over the humidity isn’t going to make life any more interesting for either of you.
Rule Number Three: Be Frivolous.
If you say it’s for college, you’re not getting shit.
I worked at this club where I would occasionally chat with the coat check girl. On her tip jar one night, she wrote: “College Fund.” She made less than twenty dollars. The next night she put a little sign that read “New Bra Fund” and she raked in over $100.
Unless they are setting up a tax-deductible charity organization, rich people do not want to send non-rich people to college.
Tips are earned for providing an a) exemplary or b) INTERESTING experience.
‘Exemplary’ is just another word for ass-kissy. And unless we are talking about rim jobs, ass-kissing is mostly humiliating and boring as hell.
You have to discretely steer the boat from from the stern while handing the Wallet a tiny paddle and letting him think he’s navigating from the bow.
If you’re doing this, then the grande finale of lifting the band of your g-string, batting those fake lashes, and suggesting “so I can buy that Pussy Kayak I was talking about!” will be easy. The Wallet will be SO ENTHUSED TO HELP YOU GET THAT VAGINA BOAT.
This world is fucked. So take the money, steal the bras, go to college if you want or just buy a bunch of spray paint and paddle down the Mississippi.