The DancerWhore's Quarantine Manifesto

16 March, 2020

Movenpick Hotel

Potsdamer Platz

Dear friends, 

I have been languishing in a hotel room for six hours. One client cancelled. Then the next. 

I love these Berlin gents, but they are--on a good day--about 30% unreliable, and in the era of Covid-19, apparently 100%.

In a tremendous swath of lucky events, I got my "tanzerin, modell" visa on Thursday, after waiting 11 hours from 5am in the cold. I was one of the last allowed in that day--the day which turned out to be the last that the foreigner's office was open. Today it was announced that it is shut until April 19th, a date that every Berliner now looks to as to potential end of the city lockdown (or so we hope). This morning, I squeezed into the Probea, and was also, as far as I can tell, one of the last prostitutes to register before that office closed.

What does that mean? I am now a fille en carte, with official permission to work in any bordello, club, or agency in the country.

It has been my dream since, I think, I was a child. 

And yesterday, all the bordellos were closed.

As I laid here for hours today trying to see my way through the next month (...+????...), a bath seemed like a good idea.

In the bath, I was listening to the soundtrack of Babylon Berlin, a series that encompasses everything I fucking love about this city. It depicts it in the Weimar era, when art and sexual deviance reigned free as the forces of evil gathered in Munich.

And it hit me: My survival plan.

You see, I find myself living in a very lovely, wood-floored, morning-sunlit bedroom in a pre-war building in Neukölln, pre-gentrification. My housemates are feeding me. It's actually incredibly beautiful and I will have to find a way to reward them for this someday. And I have been thinking, "If I could only find a barre." 

So here's my plan, dear friends, as we are all to be confined in our respective abodes, some of us (hi there) with no income save this here dear ol' Patreon:

A dance a day. Free for everyone stuck with nothing but the internet to connect us. Perhaps to an incredible 1920s soundtrack? (Don't worry, beloved patrons, there are still some fully-produced videos just for you yet to drop.)

It's going to be funky. I can't ask my editor to do anything further, so it's going to be me and my Macbook. But maybe, maybe I can bring some of my latent dancing beauty to the world in the moment when, it seems, we all sorely need to minister to our souls as the endure what may prove to be the sorest test in our lifetimes.

Our equivalent of looking out the window as the bombers fly overhead, wondering, "Is this the night I lose everything?", the same as my predecessors must have, in that very room.

You'll see it soon.

And maybe, just maybe, it will convince some of you who are not yet patrons to commit, as we freelancers and marginalized humans really face something quite, quite scary. (You will see I've lost some weight. It's nice, but it was not on purpose.)

Alles Liebe und bis bald,

Ernestine