You touched on such a profound flaw in our need to escape into fantasy that applies not just to performers (and by inclusion exotic dancers), but also to the illusion of vacations in exotic lands, where you spend a week or two in "Paradise" thinking it represents reality. It applies to newly formed relationships, where for the first few months or so both sides are riding the euphoria while at the same time presenting what they want the other person to see and concealing the warts. It can even apply to visiting a friend for a weekend in a new (to you) city, where you spend the weekend seeing the sights and enjoying the city life in a concentrated dose of good-times that represents neither the full cornucopia of life-experiences for either the friend nor what life would necessarily be like for you everyday if you moved there.

The reality is many are looking for an escape of some kind, and escaping into a strip club is like a potent dose of femininity gratuitously applied by one of those old-fashioned perfume sprayers. Speaking as a man that's seen the inside of a few of those places, I would sometimes go in with blinders on, choosing to ignore anything which is in-congruent with whatever it is I wanted to see. It’s been years since I’ve been in one of those places and I won’t be visiting another in my lifetime.

When it comes to fantasies of life, the more mature I get, the more I intrinsically understand that sunburn scene in the movie "Meet Joe Black." That Jamaican woman knew what the hell she was talking about.