By J.D. Oxblood
Cinco de Mayo, 2012
As part of our runup to Vegas (the BHOF is right around the corner), I’ve been conducting some interviews, and I’ve noticed that I always end up asking people about the local burlesque scene in their hometowns. I think this stems from two sources—I’m legitimately curious about the scenes with which I’m unfamiliar, but I think I’ve also become envious of the towns who can claim to have “a burlesque scene.” A long Facebook thread last year examined the difficulty Portland was having with a scene exploding at supernova speed, and the growing pains associated, and the concern truly warmed the cockles of my heart. (By the way, what’s a cockle?) I’ve been to Portland, and while it’s a cute, warm, enjoyable town, it is what us Big City folk call, well, small. And I kind of envy them. In New York, to say that we have a “burlesque scene” is betraying the truth—we have dozens of burlesque scenes, all happening on top of one another, and it’s so complex, amorphous and forever-mutating that it is very possible, even if you run a burlesque website and a calendar with a global reach and are invited to shows at a rate of several per hour—it is still very possible to discover that there is a whole ‘nother scene happening right under your nose that you haven’t even heard about.
Which is why Melody and I, hot-off-the-presses newlyweds, went to check out Hypergender Burlesque at the WOW Café.















