It appeared that burlesque took a terminal hit during the 2010 Fringe, when a major Scottish newspaper launched a feminist critique on its exploitation of female flesh and provoked the most glamorous protest march of the twenty-first century as burlesque performers marched on their offices. That year did mark a high water mark for the revival, with Kiki Kaboom introducing her chav routine (bellowing "do you want to see my tits?" at a frightened audience) and Blonde Ambition dominating the cabaret scene with a variety show that placed striptease alongside the cream of London's cabaret crop in the idyllic venue.
It didn't. There are more purely burlesque shows than ever in the Fringe. The Comic Strip has a classic, if slightly dubious, combination of stand-up comedy and show-girl strippers. Chas Royal brings his Circus Sideshow themed night north, even transferring the atmosphere of his London Festival to Edinburgh. Scotland's own Gypsy Charms, now PhD, has branched out into celebrity death match routines and an afternoon tease. Blonde Ambition has the flagship vaudeville Vive Le Cabaret at The Pleasance.
The apparent diminution of cabaret nights throughout the rest of the year is an illusion, caused by the growth of specials - Vendetta Vain's Trideksaphilia, or Itsy's Cabaret of Curiosities. Meanwhile, Torture Garden Edinburgh is bolstered by a strong burlesque line up. Another sign of health is the emergence of solo shows, such as Tom Harlow's Pour Homme and Crimson Skye's Death Row Diva.
For many years, the neo-burlesque revival was conflated with the cabaret revival. They had much in common. Nostalgia was respected and mocked at the same time. The erotic was made cheekier and playful, in sharp contrast to the increasingly hardcore presence of pornographic imagery in popular and on-line culture. There were alliances with vintage fashion. A shared fascination with the Weimar Republic, home of the decadent dissident, gave both scenes a political edge. But it will always be difficult to mistake The Creative Martyrs, two subversives singing sinister songs, for Wild Card Kitty.
The fundamental difference between burlesque and cabaret might be in content, but also in the format. Burlesque performers more frequently fell into the tradition of the turn, having routines and slotting into variety shows. The cabaret artist, meanwhile, would often pluck their variety act from a longer show. Des O'Connor might the host with the most, but he also has a back catalogue of hour long entertainments.
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The war on burlesque in 2010 was not just the product of a few negative reviews. Before The Scotsman let loose on the perceived misogyny in the strippers' art, comedians were already making jabs at burlesque as a place where failed performers ended up. Given that stand-up comedians are usually male - and that comedy has a macho culture of drinking and boasting - these asides were hardly the stuff of feminist liberation. Yet they contributed to a rejection of burlesque as unskilled.
Even in a worst case scenario, there are probably as many untalented comics as burlesque acts. And while a woman undressing in public does need some special pleading to be considered feminist, a man telling a bunch of jokes about dumb blondes, or in the case of Mr Reginald Hunter, a routine about sexual assault's biological advantages is more immediately misogynistic.
The feminist intentions of burlesque are always going to be problematic. They come from the idea that burlesque is not just a performance art, but part of a late twentieth century movement that asserted female sexuality, and that the community of burlesque includes lessons that explore self-esteem through striptease. There was also the evidence that burlesque was predominantly supported by female audiences and promotors.
In spite of this, the rise of mixed audiences for burlesque quickly become audiences of men, undermining this argument. A further problem is the inevitable eroticism of the striptease. It might have an amusing narrative or ironically deconstruct stereotypes. But the reveal is often partial nudity. Mrs Thatcher undressing might be a sharp political satire, but it relies on her female nature being exposed (unless she whips out a penis at the end. That would be a dramatic, deconstructing denouement).
Analysis of specific routines would provide enough evidence for both arguments. For every lazy glamour number, there would be a knowing retort. Ultimately, and unsurprisingly for a matter of belief, the observer's original opinion would determine the conclusion.
Ironically, the real measure of burlesque's feminist potential might be the opportunities it provides to its acts. One woman saying she feels liberated by stripping does not account for the social impact the act has on the collective experience of women, if it reinforces stereotypes about female worth being attached to physical attractiveness. But if neo-burlesque opened up new chances for female performers, both in financial rewards and creating work, it would satisfy a feminist agenda.
In the years leading up to 2010, and the immediate aftermath, cabaret artists were making their own solo shows. Most notably, Dusty Limits proved that a song, a spot of patter and a knowledge of Germany in the 1930s can make theatre that is, minute for minute, more intelligent and provocative than Macbeth. Des O'Connor made the vaudeville format an object lesson in morality. Miaouw Miaouw busted the diva fantasy. But there was a alack of burlesque shows that followed a narrative or theme. It remained relegated to the sideshow, even as Mat Ricardo proved that juggling could hold an audience for an hour.
In the meantime, the cabaret explosion calmed to a fixture on the scene. The buzz around vaudeville as an injection of fresh energy into theatre has been replaced by puppetry (although 2012's Fringe stars, Boris and Sergei, did both). In a few years, mainstream audiences will probably be all excited about Live Art. It is easy enough to argue that this buzz is merely the result of an art reaching a wider audience, and has no connection to creative energy. Like in music, by the time something reaches television, it has long since lost the vitality that made it unique.
For the most part, burlesque did not increase female visibility in the arts. The lack of solo shows by burlesque artists might be put down to a lack of ambition, or the prevailing patriarchal bias of even supposedly liberal art culture. Either way, the lack of change suggests that burlesque failed to attack the status quo. This doesn't deny the ability of individual artists, or the explicitly feminist intentions of certain routines. But the fact that not many articles like this are being churned out, which try to assess the situation, might be telling. No conclusions were reached. The discussion moved on.
The sort of broad generalisations this article deals in might be unhelpful, anyway. The idea that a genre is intrinsically patriarchal ignores the merits of individual performances, and denies that one act may exist in a particular relationship to the rest of the genre. Even if burlesque completely reaffirmed the objectification of women, one artist could make a work that subverted it.
A long time ago, this writer was trying to write an introduction to a solo show by Crimson Skye, and put it into a context that examined the tradition of the burlesque revival. There are no conclusions, only a provocation, marooned on the shore of Big Ideas. If the patriarchy does exist, and performance is a domain where it can be enforced or battled, individual acts are better places to make judgements than entire genres. And it is probably better to begin with an analysis of patriarchy than a hazy recollection of a moment when burlesque took the streets.
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