Toronto’s Pole Community Isn’t Just Putting on a Show

Pole dancers are aiming to make a statement.

“It's exactly what it means to me to be a woman, enduring a lot of pain, and making it look so beautiful,” three-year pole performer and co-founder of Taurus Entertainment (@taurusent), Astra, told me at the end of her performance this past November. 

Behind the beauty, grace, and creativity that every performer brings to the stage, lies a story of finding empowerment and reclamation. For co-founder Astra (@aye_its_astra), she describes the pole as a saving grace, and something that quite literally got her out of bed after experiencing domestic abuse.

“My body was taken from me and I'm taking it back,” Astra said following a powerful performance where she danced under an open umbrella full of money before revealing the dollar sign pasties under her trench coat.

Taurus Entertainment co-founders Astra and Venus say the company was conceived out of a lack of community space for the art form to create a safe space where people can both perform and enjoy the thrill of pole dancing.

“When people want to see actual pole dancing shows, there's literally nowhere to go,” Astra said, clarifying that even inside strip clubs, there's not a lot of pole dancing actually taking place.

Since establishing themselves this past March, the pair have put on two sold-out shows. Their third show was nothing short of what you’d expect from a live pole-dancing performance. It was filled with stunts, comedy and a whole lot of skin.

But it’s not just pole dancing that’s on display, the duo paired with Spotlight Burlesque, to incorporate another art form of campy theatrical reveals. One of those performances was by Snack Baby Thiccums, who started burlesque amongst the boredom brought by COVID-19. She says her performances are all about forcing people to “confront their own thoughts about what it means to be fat.”

During her most recent performance, Thiccums went from a fully clothed milkman to revealing her body where a pair of fully functioning utters sat under her lower stomach.

The performance was in direct response to an incident that occurred on the TTC, where another rider directly referred to her as a “fat cow.” She eventually decided to turn her body into a literal cow, and own what she refers to as her “fupa,” which she says has always been an insecurity of hers.

“Fuck yeah, I’m a cow, like what [about] it?” Thiccums said in between bursts of laughter.

The other half of the duo, Venus (@bbbull_), says being a performer who refuses to shave their body hair has been equally liberating and inspiring to herself and event-goers.

“Often people, like students, will come up and say, ‘Oh, I love that you have armpit hair, I feel like I can have armpit hair now if I wanted,’” Venus explained after her performance.

Venus also touched on the intersection of pole dancing and queerness. “I think in general, the pole community has very bi energy,” the performer said. As a queer person herself, she understands the importance of creating a space for people who may not fit the mould of what the average event-goer may expect from a pole performance. 

“I think it's like a fuck you to people that want to have their preconceived notions about what pole dancers are.”

When speaking with Dr. Alan Sears, a Sociology Professor Emeritus at TMU, he explained that this crossover is rooted in the idea that there is a higher degree of sex positivity within queer spaces. 

He says that there’s a documented history of queer people pioneering models for safer sex, especially during the height of the HIV and AIDs outbreak of the 1980s. Sears also acknowledged the importance of the fights of trans people in the increased visibility of queer communities today.

“There's a lot of space to play with gender and femininity and what those things mean to you,” said Venus, who sported an eye-catching red wig, pleaser-style heels and a bondage paddle to top off the look.

For Astra, she says that despite the highly feminine number she had just performed, the space they’ve curated has given her the freedom to explore the realms of male drag. “Oh yeah, your drag king persona is like blooming,” said Venus, looking over to Astra- who sat beside her.

Astra says experimenting with gender wouldn’t be as celebrated if it weren't for the pole dancing community. “It's not like you have to be a totally perfect, pristine picture of femininity all the time. You can be whatever you want, and people still love that.”

Now more than ever, Sears says he recognizes an increased level of exploration of gender and sexuality in the students he teaches. He says overall students have a much non-binary view of their bodies and are openly identifying as non-binary and/or bi-sexual in the classroom. 

“Binary is such bullshit, we are all complex mixtures of all kinds of different things,” he said.

Every performer has their own unique aesthetic that they incorporate into their act. For Soojie (@pole_sooji), it was a graceful number with a flowy costume and ethereal music, whereas, for Hail Storm (oh_no_a_hailstorm), it was a fast-paced, raunchy performance of “One Way or Another” by Blondie. No matter how different, all performances are the same in that they take a tremendous amount of strength to execute.

Astra says people don’t realize how much physical strength it takes to pull off a pole performance, which she experienced firsthand when she tried pole for the first time. “I sucked because I had never worked out a day in my life before then. So I was instantly humbled.”

But with multiple days of training a week and three years' worth of experience, her determination speaks for itself. Both performers currently teach private and group lessons to pass on their expertise to anyone who is looking to participate.

There's a huge community of people that have taken interest in performing pole dancing, the duo explained. They say the substantial response to their online Google Doc, where people can submit to be part of their shows, proves that people want to be a part of these spaces.

“I’ve definitely never been a part of a community that’s as inclusive and welcoming before,” said Thiccums.