If you’ve ever wondered what the life of a showgirl is actually like, it starts a little something like this. You slip on a wireframe backpack hidden beneath a flurry of feathers, which is essentially the weight of a two-year-old child clinging to your back, but minus the affection. Next comes the crown: a towering plumed headpiece, as heavy as a large bowling ball, balanced on the head with the improbable grace of a stack of books at a finishing school.

Now try sprinting up a narrow staircase, pivoting sideways through a doorframe, then performing two choreographed shows a night, six nights a week, all while smiling like you mean it. It quickly becomes clear that the showgirl scene isn’t all swaying pasties and soft-focus glamour. It’s really about sheer endurance, dressed up in a beda

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