Is pole dancing the new Pilates?
Celebrity f itness fans swear by it, even middle class mums are giving it a whirl, and as AMY OLIVER discovered, it’s anything but erotic!
IT IS 3.30pm on a grey, weekday. Other mums are gathering at the school gate or scoping the freezer aisle, but I am halfway up a 10ft metal pole, clinging on for grim life. Every sinew is screaming ‘stop’, my hands are burning and other parts of me are – dare say it? – chafing. I’m practising pole dancing moves, but I feel about as sexy as Jacob ReesMogg in a leotard.
So it’s a good job I’m not here to titillate. Rather, it’s because pole dancing has taken a curious new gyration, and is on the brink of becoming an actual sport.
Last week it was given official ‘observer status’ by international sporting bodies, and now pole dancers are calling for the, um, art to become an Olympic sport.
There are certainly plenty of them. ‘ Pole fitness’ classes are attracting increasing numbers of middle- class mums, children and even men, doubtless impressed by the slightly terrifying claims that its techniques can tighten up everything from your core to your… Well, let’s just say they mean everything.
It’s working for the celebs. Reality TV star Millie Mackintosh, model Helena Christensen and actress Emilia Fox have all given it a go, and Cindy Crawford even claims it has helped keep her marriage alive. Countryfile’s Julia Bradbury credits it with getting her back into shape after giving birth and even keeps a pole in her basement.
I left the last of my core strength in the labour ward, so was understandably apprehensive when Pole People offered me a lesson in one of their London studios. The sight of Australian instructor Jai Simeone in shorts tighter than Tom Daly’s trunks did nothing to allay my fears. These, she assures me, are entirely practical, rather than a bid to show off her exceptionally welltoned physique.
‘It’ s not a vanity thing,’ Jai, 43, insists. ‘You just need to use your flesh to grip the pole.’ Eek.
Like yoga, pole dancing, or ‘pole’, features hundreds of moves whose names sound as erotic as a plumbing manual. Thankfully, I won’t be attempting the ‘U Bend ’, the‘ Nose Breaker Drop’ or the ‘ Spatchcock’ in which you hold on to the poll with your armpits.
Instead we try the ‘ Step and Hook’ and a‘ Corkscrews pin ’: I have to throw myself at the pole before gracefully spinning around it.
Jai glides like a prima ballerina. I judder down the pole like a Lycra-clad Homer Simpson. ‘Great’ and ‘wow’ she says, although I’m not entirely sure why. Next is the ‘Fireman Jump’, a leap on to the pole while bringing my legs into a mid-air squat.
‘You need to jump up the poll rather than on to it so you don’t bang yourself down there,’ Jai says helpfully, gesturing at her tiny shorts. By now I’m very anxious indeed. ‘Bruises are the ultimate trophies,’ encourages Jai.
It doesn’t seem to have put anyone else off. Estimates suggest 5 million people worldwide have embraced the pole. Real enthusiasts can even compete professionally.
Pole People teaches all levels, at £14 for 90 minutes, to the sort of nervejangling techno beat I normally associate with Vauxhall Corsas.
Its founder, Alison Hudd, a former BBC researcher who discovered pole after watching a friend perform in an upmarket strip club, says they attract a diverse clientele. ‘We’ve had Dave the trucker,’ she says. ‘He was fun. His main ambition was to do the human flag in which you hold the pole and thrust your body out at a 90 degree angle.’ The mind boggles. ‘The boys on a recent stag do were like, “Pah, this’ll be easy,” but soon found out that it’s really not,’ she adds. Apparently – although my thighs would beg to differ – it can even prove relaxing.
Gabriela Gubo, 29, an A&E doctor, explained: ‘It’s the best way to escape from everyday life.
‘ People al ways s mile when you mention it, but after you explain that it’s basically gymnastics on a BIG FAN: Julia Bradbury with the pole she has in her home pole, it’s really difficult and doesn’t involve any stripping, they’re OK.’ But it’s supposed to be erotic, right? Wrong, Alison says. In fact, it was used to train wrestlers in China as long ago as the 12th Century. Only in 1920s America did it turn raunchy, when ‘ Hoochie Coochie’ dancers performed in big tops, using the pole which held the tent up. ‘What we do is free of eroticism. But obviously it still can be, and that’s fine,’ Alison says carefully, alluding to the rivalry between those who see themselves as athletes and those who perform in strip clubs. Equally controversial is that children as young as eight are reportedly practising the ‘ sport’, but Alison insists: ‘ You’re not teaching children about dance, it’s about physicality.’ Indeed, at the International Pole Sports Federation world championships – which this year attracted 229 athletes from 36 countries – a costume considered too revealing, or a wardrobe malfunction, could see points deducted.
British pole dancer Kate Czepulkowski, aka ‘Bendy Kate’ who won the 2014 world championships, tapes her shorts to her bottom to avoid such mishaps. Her pre- show preparation involves months of gruelling training, with not a fake eyelash nor spray tan in sight.
There is no glamour in my studio, either, now my lesson is over.
I’m a pale, sweating, aching mess after just 20 minutes. The next day I’m so stiff that I can hardly lift my phone; my body dotted with bruises.
As for those nightclub dancers who can twirl around a pole with ease, and still shrug off their bras with a saucy smile at the right moment, I have a newfound respect.
Me? I can barely remove my jumper without a grimace.