Burlesque Killed My Dating Life (And Set Me Free)

I Found Myself in Fishnets, Not Fairy Tales

Let me start by saying this: I didn’t get into burlesque to ruin my love life. I got into burlesque to save myself.

Before sequins, lashes, and alter egos, I was married. It looked great on paper: stable guy, apartment with a lease, future plans that mirrored the American Dream checklist. But deep down, I was drowning in the fine print of that dream. It wasn’t a fairytale—it was a box. And I was supposed to shrink myself to fit it.

Seven years post-divorce, I’ve realized I didn’t marry the love of my life—I married a goal. A box to check. Because that’s what we’re taught: find a man, build a life around him, lose yourself gently and politely.

Spoiler alert: I wasn’t built for gentle or polite.

When I left that marriage, I was broken open. Then I fell in love again—this time with someone who cracked me wide open. That love felt real… until it wasn’t. Until betrayal showed up. And that’s when Pennie Please was born.

(photo by Dave Wood)

She wasn’t just a stage name. She was my resurrection.
My return to my own damn self.

Burlesque didn’t just give me a mic and a spotlight. It gave me permission. To take up space. To lead. To command attention without apology. To express my pain, pleasure, rage, and joy in rhinestones and reveals. And once you taste that kind of power, it’s really hard to pretend you’re okay playing small again.

And that’s where the dating part gets tricky.

Burlesque women don’t walk into rooms—we enter. We don’t just smile and nod—we challenge. We flirt with the truth and undress shame in front of crowds. And I’ve found that most men—yes, even the “cool, creative” ones—don’t know what to do with that. They say they want a powerful woman… until she’s more powerful than them.

Burlesque rewired me. It taught me that my body is mine. My voice is mine. My dreams are not up for negotiation. It helped me fall so in love with my own magic that I no longer want to mold myself to someone else’s idea of “a good girlfriend” or “wife material.” That version of me doesn’t exist anymore.

I’m not anti-love. I just know the price now. I know what I’m not willing to give up. And maybe, maybe one day someone will show up who doesn’t flinch when I sparkle a little too hard. Who can hold their own while I hold a mic. Who doesn’t need me to shrink, but expands beside me.

But until then, I’m not lonely.
I’m lit up.
Burlesque didn’t ruin my dating life.
It just raised the bar so high, basic love can’t reach me anymore.

(photo by Emerald Boes)

And honestly?
That’s not a tragedy.
That’s a rebirth.