I was talking with a coworker, a fellow stripper (or to be more specific, I was listening to her) when my eyes were opened to something I hadn’t considered before. This girl was clearly brainwashed by the advertising industry — specifically, images of luxury cars parked in the driveways of big houses. You know the images I’m talking about. They’re everywhere.

In this moment I understood that everything about how she lived was motivated by these images. She dressed like someone who (in her imagination) would live in such a house and drive such a car. When describing the type of man she likes, she said he has to wear a certain type of watch and a certain type of shoe — in other words, he also has to look like (her idea of) a person who lives in a big house and drives a luxury car. I imagine she left her small, not-so-wealthy American town for New York in search of the car parked in front of the house. I knew this coworker for many years but it wasn’t until this conversation that I was able to see the world through her eyes. And what a shocking revelation — This girl is living her whole life for a house and a car!

This girl is living her whole life for a house and a car!

Now in case you’re feeling judgmental, let me add that this woman was also one of the few people I’ve met who consistently behaved with integrity. I’ve witnessed her pass up opportunities to step on another dancer’s shoes. When there’s money involved, lots of people will screw another person over without a second thought. But not this girl. And that’s why I liked her. I trusted her. Even though we rarely socialized outside of work, I considered her my friend.

And she got me thinking: what advertising images have brainwashed me? The answer came pretty quickly.

I was raised in the wealthy suburbs of New York. During high school, my young single mom and I moved to an especially wealthy suburb. I spent my formative years surrounded by luxury cars parked in front of beautiful houses. So this advertising image didn’t work on me the way it worked on my friend. To me, it wasn’t something to aspire to — it was everywhere. And it didn’t seem that hard to obtain. In my teenage mind there was a clear path to getting the house and the car. All you had to do was attend a reasonably prestigious college because that would lead to a well-paying job. If you obeyed the rules, the other stuff would follow.

The valedictorian of my high school class had always obeyed the rules. So by our 10 year reunion, she’d already purchased a house in Greenwich, CT. Lots of my classmates were impressed, but I wasn’t. This girl never even smiled! She was always so stern, so serious. What kind of life is that? I took a good look at her one day in the hallway by our lockers during senior year and thought: she should be hot, but she’s not. Her body was fit, her features were symmetrical, her skin was clear, her hair was shiny and thick. She possessed all the elements of a hot chick. But something was missing from the inside. Did she ever even date anyone in high school? I can’t remember. I for sure never saw her at any parties.

My high school class valedictorian was the teenage version of the parents who lived in my town. They all seemed super stressed. I didn’t admire any of them. I had one friend whose mother was such a dark cloud I could feel her draining my life force the moment she entered a room. Her negativity was palpable, terrifying. I’m sure some of my classmates’ parents were joyful adults. But I never met any of them.

After living in this town and getting to know these people, I went out into the world in no particular rush to get the house or the car. What I aspired to was happiness. I wanted to laugh and dance and for all the boys to find me alluring. I wanted adventures. I wanted to be fit and beautiful. I wanted to drive in a Jeep with the top down on the beach with my friends at sunset.

I wanted to live the life advertised by alcohol.

During college, I tore a page from a magazine and posted it on my bedroom wall. The ad was for Absolut Vodka and pictured model Rachel Williams wearing a mini dress sporting the brand logo. Her legs were long and muscular. Her arms were cut and defined. Her muscles were slim and lean like a professional dancer. This woman had vitality. She was on the move, with hair swooshing behind her, beautiful, fit and active. Now this is the woman I wanted to be. It never crossed my mind that anyone in such great shape probably wasn’t a big drinker.

It’s almost embarrassing to admit that years later I became a stripper who drank (what else?) Absolut Vodka. I mixed it with club soda and a splash of cranberry to make it palatable. On its own vodka tastes exactly like what it is — poison.

I say it’s “almost” embarrassing because as a stripper I used my money and freedom to live the life I fantasized about as a kid. I traveled and had adventures. I learned new skills and volunteered. I experienced lots of friendships and romances. So I’m not embarrassed, I’m proud. I had dreams and I wasn’t afraid to go after them. I wrote about this freewheeling period of my life and the valuable lessons learned in my memoir No Daddy’s Girl. 

REGRETS

If I die today, I have no regrets except for one— the fact that I used to drink alcohol! I never questioned my drinking and didn’t realize I was unconsciously engaging in self-destructive behavior. Drinking seemed like a normal part of life. Alcohol goes hand in hand with good times, right?

I remember chatting with a competitive bodybuilder at the gym one day. When I learned that he never touched alcohol, “except for maybe a toast on New Year’s Eve,” my heart broke for him. All he said was, “ I don’t drink.” But what I heard was, “I never smile or laugh. I never let loose or have fun. And I definitely never dance at parties.”

Back then, I imagined sobriety would be miserable. Truth is, I needed the disinhibiting effects of alcohol. Over the years, I’ve grown comfortable in my own skin and no longer need a couple drinks to feel at ease in social situations. But I wonder how much faster I would’ve gotten to this point if I’d never relied upon alcohol as a crutch at all.

MY HOLY SHYTE MOMENT

I didn’t choose an alcohol-free lifestyle in one moment of clarity. I chose sobriety in the way I chose to become vegan, through a series of insights over time until one day I realized: holy shyte! This is horrific!

And just because this behavior is “normal” doesn’t mean it’s right.

It hate to think of how I’ve hurt my body over the years. But I’m grateful that ultimately I snapped out of it. And now, even though I’m bombarded daily by images designed with the nastiest intentions, they have no power over me anymore.