Confessions of a feminist promo girl

As a feminist, there are certain jobs I’d be uncomfortable doing. I don’t want to be a Playboy Bunny, and I certainly don’t want to be a porn star.

Any job that profits from the sexual objectification of women bothers me.

Argue all you want that women can take control of their bodies and use them for their own profit, thereby empowering themselves. We’re still being objectified. Yet, I’m a walking contradiction. Hi, my name is Kelly, and I’m a promo girl.

This summer, I was hired by a promotions company to work in Bloomington bars and restaurants endorsing a specific brand of alcohol. Every Friday or Saturday night, I shimmy into a skintight black dress and high, high heels. I do my makeup and make my hair look big and shiny.

Since I don’t have a car, I usually throw sweats and a jacket on over my minidress and keep my heels in a bag while I ride my bike to work. Sometimes the doormen don’t believe I’m one of the promoters until I’ve taken my jacket off to reveal how scantily clad I am.

I like to tell myself that I defy most stereotypes that go with the industry. It gives me a little peace. When I first got the job, I was flattered. Although it involves some amount of organization and conversation, much of it is standing around and handing stuff out while looking attractive.

I’ve never professionally modeled or acted or done any work that hinged on how I look, so getting a job as a promo girl was a taste of the self-esteem boosting potion that women in these positions must run on.

Rather than being paid to run administrative systems at a bike store or save chubby children from the murky depths of the community pool (as I’ve done in the past), I’m being paid a pretty hefty amount to look pretty.

I love my boss and the girls I work with. It’s the easiest and most entertaining job I’ve ever had. I often have to remind other people — usually men, although I have been invited into the women’s bathroom a few times — that it’s my job to give them alcohol and be nice to them and that talking to them doesn’t mean I’m open to their advances.

When I really think about what I’m doing, I feel strange and a little guilty. I’m willingly letting myself be objectified for a big paycheck. The only skills I use involve putting on makeup, walking in heels and talking to drunk people about the alcohol I’m giving them.

What does that say about me? Probably that I’m a little bit of a hypocrite.

I have strong beliefs, but when I’m in a tight spot financially, I’m willing to compromise them, at least to an extent.  I’m owning up to it here. Sometimes, it seems that being objectified is the most profitable option.

I’m the problem in society that I think needs addressing. In our society, we make it so much easier for women to succeed when they look pretty or have a good body.
Although I’ve wrestled with it, I don’t think I’ll give the job up so long as they still want me. To be honest, it pays too well.

I’m paying for college myself, and I’ll take money where I can get it. But this is probably my limit. Being a promo girl weighs somewhat better on my personal scale of morality than stripping my way through school, so I think I’ll take this option.

I know the typical, American-Dream-fueled way to get through your university days is by flipping burgers, but I’m a vegetarian, and fast food work pays a fraction of what I’m earning. So, I guess I’m sorry for not being sorry enough. This is probably the only time in my life that I’ll be young enough and cute enough to do this.

A poor, independent college woman like myself has to take charge of her life and make use of opportunities as they come to her.

And this opportunity was a pretty nice one, even if I have to walk in stilettos to get it.

­— kelfritz@indiana.edu