I Lurve You, New Orleans Burlesque!

Editors Note: As we head out the door for a going away party for a cherished member of the New Orleans Burlesque community, we thought we would give Moxie the opportunity to bid adieu in her own words. This is not goodbye, merely a farewell as the fabulous Moxie Sazerac will being sharing her transition from the Big Easy to the Big Apple right here on Southern Babylon. Stay tuned.

Feel free to post your own wishes of farewell and good luck to Moxie in the comments section below.


There’s no way to say this that won’t make me sound like a big ball of a mush, so I’ll be plain: I love New Orleans burlesque.

I love the glitter and glamour.  I love the wigs and the fake mustaches and rhinestoned ties and panties.  I love the crinkled set lists backstage, the lost gloves, the moments of improvisation when a band pulls up tight against a hip-dropping beat.

I love what is New Orleans about New Orleans burlesque.  That underdog in the gutter looking up at the stars vibe, that feeling that we can do whatever we want on these stages, because for better or worse, who is watching but us, right here, right now, on a muggy summer night at the very bottom of a big, wide country?

I love the performers I’ve watched for a year, two, sometimes five.  They are funny and strong and sexy and powerful, and they do this strange magic onstage because they love it like I do, because they want to do it more and better every time.  I love the push to make it more—more classic, more edgy, more shiny, more money, more rhinestones, more true.

I love the rush backstage, the swoop of hands to the middle of a circle for luck and laughter, for the BEST SHOW EVER, every time.  I love that sometimes it can really feel like that, the best show ever, every time.

I love the way the audience looks, all washed in half light that bounces off their eyes and the plastic cups in their hands.  I love how willing they are to go with us, to let us take them there.  To cheer to laugh, to hoot and holler, to get a cake thrown in their laps or a cloud of glitter sprayed up their nose.

I love the places we do this, the way you can find burlesque almost anywhere, the way it’s become a part of life here, like it should be, like it once was.  Outside, inside, behind a curtain, in a courtyard, on big and small stages, in a grocery store, a second line, at benefits and birthday parties, for tourists and for one another.  Yep, there goes one of those burlesque girls. 

Any burlesque virgins in the house?  Well, I love you too.  Because you won’t last, we’ll find you and you’ll become like us.  This will become something you’ll love to do.

I love how I’ve seen burlesque change in the last five years.  I love that it will keep changing.  I love that there are conversations happening about what burlesque can do, about what a “burlesque community” actually means.  What can happen when we put our heads and hearts and pasties and plans together?  What already has?

Burlesque—New Orleans burlesque—has a claim on my heart.  That goofy, clownish, classically trained, over the top, borderline circus, queer, naked, saxophone swinging, cigarette smoke clouded burlesque—I love you.  Thank you for having me, for making me.

Forever yours,