Ask A Stripper: Pulling Back the G-String: 646 words, 3 minutes read time.
Some shows at the Edinburgh Fringe are one-off thrills. You see them, you laugh, you go home. Ask A Stripper isn’t like that. I first saw it on a converted bus—an intimate, cheeky, slightly chaotic setting that suited it perfectly. Now it’s in Dragonfly, an atmospheric cocktail bar just a short walk from the so-called “pubic triangle,” home to three of Edinburgh’s strip clubs, including the iconic Western and the Burke and Hare. That proximity isn’t just geographical—it’s thematic. You’re in the heart of the conversation before the show even begins.
This time the hosts were Stacey Clare, author of The Ethical Stripper, and Savannah DuVall, who brought her own sharp wit and warm presence to the mix. The format remains disarmingly simple: two strippers on stage, an audience with questions, and absolutely nothing off the table. I’ve seen this show multiple times over its five-Fringe run, and that’s the beauty—you can go again and again because the audience shapes it. No two nights are alike. This time, the questions centred on boundaries—where they’re set, how they’re enforced (and by whom)—and what makes a venue truly good to work at. That led to revealing stories about respect, safety, pay, and the fine line between “fun” and “exploitative.”
What Ask A Stripper does especially well is expose the transactional nature of sex work. Yes, there’s the obvious exchange of performance for money, but there’s a deeper layer—a psychological transaction. Customers often come seeking validation, fantasy, or even a kind of therapy disguised as entertainment. The labour is emotional as much as it is physical. It’s about creating an atmosphere, playing a role, and knowing exactly how to negotiate those unspoken contracts while keeping control of the interaction. Stacey’s insights into the psychology of how to control a group of potentially rowdy males was gold. That emotional labour is invisible to many outside the industry, yet it’s central to the job. Given that the job is transactional it’s no surprise that some strippers start to think about broader power relations in society.
And that’s why strippers need unions as Stacey Clare made clear. This is a job like any other in the sense that it involves management, workplace rules, payment systems, and power dynamics. It’s also a job like no other in the level of stigma, legal ambiguity, and exploitation it can attract if workers aren’t organised. The Sex Workers’ Union here in the UK has done sterling work in pushing for basic rights—safe working conditions, fair pay, protection from harassment—but they are up against deeply entrenched prejudice and politicians eager to regulate without listening. As a union man through and through, I recognise the same patterns I’ve seen in countless other industries: bosses maximising profit by keeping workers divided, insecure, and afraid to speak out. Organising is the antidote.
The mood in Dragonfly suited this conversation perfectly. Intimate with the hosts close, and £10 cocktails worth every penny helped create the sense that we weren’t just at a performance, but in an unfiltered, wide-ranging dialogue. The humour was sharp and plentiful—these strong, intelligent women can puncture awkwardness in a heartbeat—but the political undercurrent was unmistakable. This is about the realities of sex work: the rights, the risks, the compromises, and the pride. It’s also about the human side of an industry that too many only see in terms of titillation or scandal.
And yes, there’s nudity. This is Ask A Stripper, after all. If that, or frank sexual talk, makes you squeamish, then it’s not for you. But if you can handle honesty in its rawest form, you’ll leave with more than you came for—new perspectives, a few laughs, maybe a cocktail buzz and perhaps even a renewed sense of why empathy and solidarity matter.
Reviewed by Pat Harrington
More information and tickets here
