I’m sure this blog post will land me on the National Registry of Belly Dance Haters. I’m sure I’ll anger the Correctness Police. Perhaps, I should send my boyfriend out to the Army/Navy Store to buy me a flak jacket to wear to my gigs.
But I think it’s time for the Cheesy Belly Dance Show to die.
We’ve all seen the James Bond movies and the Monkees music videos, with the dancers (in bad-ass vintage bedlah!) playing the femmes fatales. We’ve all been to bad Middle Eastern restaurants and touristy dinner-and-a-show attractions, seen some sort of circus-inspired spectacle with fire and snakes and acrobatics and wondered what on earth we just saw. Some of us have even been to …