My pole journey started in 2009. And like most journeys worth taking, it hasn't been a straight line. Life had other plans more than once. But every time I came back, I came back different. And better. When I started, studios were so rare that local news stations would actually run stories every time a new one opened. "There's a new trend happening," they'd say. "Regular women are taking these classes." As if that was the surprising part.

I wasn't looking for a trend. I was looking for a stress reliever. And I found so much more than that. I fell in love. I had always been drawn to the artistry of it: the midnight ballerinas, the athletes, the performers who moved in ways that made you forget to breathe. What I didn't expect was how many different forms that expression could take. Exotic. Sport. Contemporary. Heels. Barefoot. Each one its own language. Each one valid.
 

 

This last time I came back to pole after having my daughter, I noticed something. A quiet division settling into the community. Certain styles being celebrated over others. Certain bodies being featured more than the rest. Beginners being left without a mirror to see themselves in. Limited realistic pictures of what a real progression looks like, just polished highlight reels from people already at the top.

 

Also, very importantly there's a conversation that needs to be had: one the pole community has been dancing around for a long time.

This art form has roots. Deep ones. The women who built pole culture, the midnight ballerinas, the performers, the exotic dancers who turned a stage into a canvas, they deserve their flowers. Not footnotes. Not a quiet acknowledgment before we move on. Their artistry, their courage, and their contributions are the foundation that every single one of us is standing on. That history doesn't get swept under the rug here.

At the same time, pole has grown. It's become sport. It's become fitness. It's become contemporary art. And every person who shows up to the pole, in heels or bare feet, in a studio or a living room, competing or just moving for joy, or because it is their livelihood is bringing something real and valid to this space.

The division between these worlds doesn't serve any of us. It never did. What makes pole extraordinary is exactly the fact that it holds all of these things at once: the sensual and the athletic, the performative and the personal. When we shrink that to fit a single narrative, we lose what makes it special.

The Open Pole doesn't choose sides. It chooses all of it.

The beauty of pole is because of its diversity, the wildly different artists who show up to it, each bringing something the other couldn't. That uniqueness isn't a problem to be sorted. It's the whole point.

So here's what I believe: pole is for everyone. Full stop.

Not just a certain body. Not just a certain style. Not just the ones who've been doing it long enough to make it look easy. We were all beginners once. We all deserve to see ourselves reflected in this space.

I don't know exactly what The Open Pole will grow into. But I know it starts here, with a community that gives as much as it takes, that celebrates as loudly as it creates, and that refuses to leave anyone standing outside the door wondering if they belong.
 

They do. You do.

Welcome to The Open Pole. 🖤