Annoyingly my camera ran out of battery as I was playing with the settings to start documenting her. Anyway I walked in and assumed my position; perched on the end of her bed. We chatted and caught up like we always do. She told me about her date and funny stories of what had happened at the weekend. This time she had her stage make-up on full and seemed to be more in the mood for performing and I could not help but be angry at myself for not charging my camera. The way her eye-lashes were shadowing her large childlike eyes, pencilled eyebrows and painted red lips, reminded me of the stage make-up I wore as a ballet dancer when performing as a young girl. It made me compare, the highly respected, disciplined, renowned ‘art form’ we call Ballet, to the performances Charlie undertakes at her liberty and will when ever she pleases. Performative dance, especially beneath the realm of Ballet is so regimented, choreographed and planned, yet still with the subtleties of lines, pattern of movement, and power of costume can tell stories of lust and sex. When I watched her that evening whilst she embarked on booking in a private show on her forum, sexually caressing her body standing up suggestively moving her hips and pushing together her breasts, I saw it so much more as a performance, where she too is creating lines, through movement and dance which have their own narrative, it being one that is more direct in the arousel of it’s audience. I asked her why such strong make-up. Enthused she showed me herself on camera exclaiming how much better it looks on cam than in real life. I have to say- she had a point. She looked incredible. I observed as she pouted her lips up close to the camera, bowing her head and looking up into the lens with eyes that invited the receiver to her bed. What dawned on me then, was how much the camera acted as a mirror. She doesn’t see her clients or what they do, her image is reflected back at her constantly. She is so aware of every movement, every angle in which she looks her best. Some would say it narcissistic, but again I could only compare this to the hours training as young girl in front of peripheral filled mirrors. Only I did not have floods of messages telling me how beautiful I am, I had the positions of authority picking apart every negative in order to fit me in it’s mold.
Ding ding ding, she struck gold, four of her clients had agreed to chip in for a private show adding up to a grand £6 a minute. I think I was more excited than her- for her I guess this is regular, but that amount of money a minute I just couldn’t comprehend. I asked her how long she would be doing it for as I was reaching for my camera (forgetting it’s battery situation), but she was distracted. She then turned the screen towards me and showed me that the guys were asking me to be a part of the show. She giggled and typed at speed that “she doesn’t cam”. One of them seemed to express concern that I was going to be in the room during, and although disappointed that I was going to miss out of my first experience in documenting her full swing, I quickly told her I would leave, not wanting her to loose out on the money. I picked up my things, blew her a kiss and left.