Let’s talk about stage names.
The Studio has a few old back issues of a periodical called The Vault. If you don’t know what The Vault is, it is a defunct magazine devoted to NYC-based prodommes. Most of the content consists of ads and interviews with various dommes.
I hate to be a bitch to women in this industry, but I have a confession to make:
I leaf through the magazine primarily so that I can laugh at the stage names and titles some of the women give themselves.
I do feel guilty for criticizing someone’s artistic expression, but come on…Czarina Cruella von Whiplash? “Goddess?” Really?
I let the subs at work call me Mistress if they want to, because at work I’m a service Top and they’re paying for the experience. If calling a me Mistress is a part of his fantasy, I let him do it. In my private life I’d never let a man address me as his mistress until I formally took him on (but that’s just my personal preference. Different strokes, and all that).
If they ask me how I want to be addressed, I tell them Miss/Miss Margo/or Margo, or Miss Adler if I my intention is to be particularly hard on them. I also switch and sub a lot, so an authoritative title seems like false advertising. Many submissive men do not like to submit to women who switch. It ruins the fantasy for them, which I understand.
My first stage name was going to be Snow, which I’ve always thought was a lovely name for a girl.
The manager of my first dungeon stopped chewing on his ballpoint pen (he’d been taking notes during our interview) and said: “You want something girl-next-door. Something they can remember. Trust me.”
He was right. Some of these men are not too bright. They might have money and credentials, but they are still not too bright. When I started, I was calling myself Margot. I had to drop the “t” because guys were calling and asking for “Mar-got” (another one told me that my name looked like maggot, which kinda ruined it for me).
Women with exotic names can and do make money…but even if she’s Russian, no guy is going to call and make an appointment with Duchess Tatiana Anastasia (the English-Russian mix is intentional). I’ve also noticed that the more preposterous the title, the sillier and less attractive the domme.
“Mistress” is default, but I think “Lady” is quite pretty. I think Lady is understated and elegant.
When I’m submissive, I usually call him by his title and last name, at least in bed. Heinrich made me call him Mein Herr over Abduction Weekend, or when he trained me. “Master” is an impressive word, but whenever I use it, I think of Igor in those old Frankenstein black-and-whites…”Yesssss Master!” Oh god. Wait till you’re a sub in the Biz and some troglodyte male dom rolls in and wants you to call him “Master.” Try to keep a straight face. I have to bite the insides of my cheeks so hard…
Recently, the Studio hired a new girl who started calling herself…”Porsche.”
When I heard that, I winced visibly. I couldn’t help it.
“Porsche? Like the car?” I was hoping it was “Portia,” as in the various heroines in Shakespeare plays (many of the clients would be ignorant of the reference, but even still, Portia is a pretty name).
“Yup. Curves built for speed!”
I didn’t say anything, because it’s none of my business and I also didn’t want to offend her, but what an awful name for a domme. In addition to being aesthetically bankrupt, it is also career suicide. Our clientele are conservative middle-aged white guys. When they hear the name Porsche, the first thing that pops into their heads is: “What sort of poor trash hoodrat IS this person?” Doesn’t matter how pretty she is. Unless they are into a particular sort of humiliation, they want the illusion that the woman is superior to them…and in our culture includes status and money, or at least education. The clients don’t know anyone named “Porsche” in thier daily lives. They didn’t know anyone named Porsche in college. If their teenaged son came home with a girlfriend named Porsche, they’d lock him in the basement.
Finally: I hate it when a client pressures me to give him my real name. This happens occasionally during the screening process when I work independently: “I had to give you my name! Why don’t you give me yours?” Boundaries-pushes do it, too. What’s your name? What’s your real name?
When they do this, I play a prank.
I give them the most unsexy, unattractive name I can come up with.
“Dagmar!” I say, and then helpfully explain: “It’s German!”
You should see them wilt, expectations dashed! Bwaahahahahaha!
Happy New Year (almost)
P.S. I experienced the best Mansplaination yesterday! See, I have some knicks on the back of my calf from an ugly encounter with a dull razor in the shower. Just a few small scabs…though they look pronounced because of my pale skin.
Well, I was standing in line at the deli to buy pineapple slices. I love pineapple and eat it several times a week.
This guy comes up behind me and asks, “Miss! Hey, you! How’d you get those cuts on your leg?”
Women’s bodies are public property. Men feel entitled to talk about our bodies…to our faces, no less. Hey you! Fuckmeat! Explain your injury to me!
“I scraped it by accident when I was shaving my legs,” I said, not looking at him, passing my money to the cashier.
“You didn’t get it from riding a bike? It looks like you got it riding a bike.”
(The only thing I can say in this fucktard’s favor: the scabs are on the place where you can get torn up from a bike chain.)
“No, I got it in the shower when shaving my legs.”
“Naw. You got that from a bike. Right?”
And there you have it. This complete stranger knows better than I how I injured the skin on my leg. He is omniscient, all-knowing…like God. He was there when I hurt myself. He knows.
Oh, to be a man. To be a man.