On Rejection

It started as a joke: what if we got a merit badge for each rejection we faced as burlesque artists? Every festival, every competition, every ‘no,’ every ‘not yet.’



I imagined a crowd of burlesque artists at a cocktail party wearing gaudy tiger- and leopard-print sashes festooned with badges, each with the name and year of the rejection. “This was the second year I didn’t make it to New York,” one person might say, pointing to a glittery pink patch. “I’ve got seven badges for the BHoF Weekender alone,” another person says, “and I’m waiting for my eighth!” The chatter at the party would be peppered with knowing laughter and sighs, all of us familiar with those opening lines, “We were overwhelmed with submissions this year! After careful consideration, we regret to inform you…”

My own sash has quite an array of badges. I suddenly feel vulnerable about putting this in writing, but, to date, of the twenty-six festivals I’ve applied to, twenty-one thanked me for taking the time to submit my acts but would not be able to include me in that year’s line-up. (One was canceled, and I don’t get a badge for that one. It’s not a ‘no’ until it’s a ‘no.’) There are repeats and one-offs, and even three from an annual competition here in Chicago I knew I wasn’t right for. There are some I was expecting and some that hurt. Some reached my inbox on the first day the festival offers went out, and some took weeks.

My journey is rife with rejection. Don’t quote me on this, but, for all of the times I’ve been on stage, I’ve probably been rejected more. It can feel embarrassing and frustrating and even sometimes make me ask myself whether I’m cut out for burlesque at all.

But I invite us all to reframe this.



Would I treat rejection differently if it were something to celebrate rather than to be embarrassed of? Would I be bolder with my art knowing that each ‘no’ and ‘not yet’ teaches me, just like each ‘yes’?

Each rejection offers me the chance to take stock of myself as a performer. Am I able to do things I wasn’t able to do a year ago? Are my choices in my acts more specific than they were before? How’s my costuming? How’s my movement? Do I need to take a class or two? How can I grow?



Each rejection also offers me the opportunity to step back and check in with myself as a person. How much of my worth am I getting from what I do on stage? What do I believe about myself when I get that ‘not this year’ email?



I’d love to see the rejection sashes belonging to the big names in burlesque. I’ve love to know what special wisdom they have only because of their rejections and failures. How many times did they try before they succeeded?

Rejection stings, but if I’m not getting rejected, it probably means I’m not trying. I doubt I’m the only person for whom this is true.

And besides, I’ll never win if I don’t play.