What brings you here tonight? Creating theatre in a strip club

The response that struck me the most however was the girls who said this, "I am already objectified, I am stared at on the street, I'm already called a whore, and judged, so why not make some money?" On workshopping this piece with our ensemble of 4 talented young women, logically I knew they would likely have experienced sexual harassment, but I was still shocked and appalled by some of the stories they told.

Just last week one of the girls was repeatedly harassed in her place of work, a restaurant. Customers, who I'm sure are aware that harassing someone is inappropriate, inexplicably still chose to do it, asking her to bend over, asking for 'a piece of her', asking her when she was getting off work. And this talented intelligent young woman still felt she had to be polite to these guys. And all of the girls related.

Why do we feel like our bodies are already public property? And if we already feel this way in 'real' life, why not use our bodies and at least make some cash?

Now this brings me to the notion of 'cost'. Before commencing the research for the show I had this sticky feeling that there was an emotional cost to the dancers. I wanted to believe that there were exceptions. But every single girl I spoke to, every blog I read spoke of the cost.

One dancer said that strip clubs take everything that's wrong with society's view of women and amplifies it by a thousand. If you are not completely comfortable in your own skin, if you can't brush off rejection and people's insults, then you are going to struggle.

Another girl described how stripping tarnished her view of men. She began to judge all men as customers who viewed her objectively instead of subjectively, which seriously impacted her relationship with her boyfriend.

Another dancer said that she hated what she did, she didn't enjoy it, but she was addicted to the rush of stripping, the feeling of power and control.

These reasons are why much of the advice online is to have an exit strategy. Plan your time there. Write down concrete goals – how much money you need to earn to achieve you goals, and then get out because it will take its toll.

So, what do I think now, after months of research and show development? I have to be honest. I still don't like that this industry exists. I can't get past the fact that it is a fundamentally patriarchal institution created for the objectification of women, to take away their subjectivity and replace it with undemanding archetypes.

However, I have developed an extremely high level of respect for the women in this industry. Stripping is hard work on the body and the soul, and don't even get me started on pole dancing.

While I can't allow myself to like the industry I do believe there are valuable exchanges that take place in a strip club. It can provide a service that is otherwise inaccessible for some. It can provide validation, acknowledgement and intimacy for both dancers and patrons.

But what is the line between service and exploitation? Consent. And this I've realised, for me, is the fundamental core of feminism and equality.

Don't enter the industry as a fall back. Do your research. Be informed. Find a club that will help and support you. Own your sexuality, make some money, but ensure it is your choice.