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I was laying in bed the other night, minding other people's business on Instagram when I received a text from my wife:

"Talia wants to know if you have a special trick for making your vagina not sweat."

Vagina sweat is real and I confess to having let it make me feel profoundly anxious in my early ripper days. But I've been at this game for over five years and I've got ample insight and solutions for your juicy clams.


Lots of women deodorize. Particularly between the thighs. Chafing happens to everyone and a recent remedy introduced to me be a total babe of a colleague is a silicone-based product made by Monistat. Rub that shit on your inner gams and chase after any unpaid debt without starting a fire in your loins. 

A lot of strippers also douse their entire being in gallons of Victoria's Secret Body Spray, focusing mainly on the pelvic area. (Victoria's Secret Body Spray - along with tampons and Mary Kay blush from 1988 - are ubiquitous offerings by the house mom in most strip club dressing rooms. Since we are obliged to pay a nightly fee to use or not to use them, most girls marinate in the stuff).  I personally find this practice repulsive. Because Victoria's Secret doesn't know shit about pheromones and, as a sentient being, I like pheromones. 

Recall the vagina - like the eye - is a self-cleaning organ and is doing what it's supposed to be doing. This sometimes means perspire.

Which brings me to my favourite thing in the world: fresh underwear. I have been known to go through four to five pairs in any given day. It's like giving your butt a mid-day hug of softness and love when you've still got mad chores ahead of you. Cotton fuckin' freshies, girl. Take a cue from all of us strippers when I tell you to just carry around a few extra thongs, briefs, or freshies of any nature in your purse.  Because I know you don't skip around with a fucking clutch. No one does that. It's the biggest myth of the early aughts.

How you think you roll:

What you actually pack for your average Tuesday:

When I worked at a full-nude clubs back in Australia, baby-wipes were routinely used to keep things as fresh as double-bagged bread before stepping on stage. 

A game men try to play at strip clubs is the blow n' waft. When a stripper is on stage and paying attention to another client, a shitty spectator blows on her. He inhales deeply as the air that blows back in his face oozes with the dancer's scent. I hate this game. We all do, which is why it usually ends with the guy being 'accidentally' kicked in the face. But if I'm fearful of being charged with assault, I take a deep, hot, belchy breath and blow right back at them. 

But then this hot little dirty blonde I once knew would would take main stage, and - for a tip - play the dopest strip-club game I have ever seen in my life:


She would rub a finger or two against her vulva and let the horny gawkers smell her fingers.


And she always looked like she was having SO. MUCH. FUCKING. FUN. 

What I'm saying is pussy smells awesome. Don't hinder what's destined for greatness.