My stripper name is Caramel.

I hate it with every inch of my beeing. Caramel. Just the sound of it makes me cringe. I hate the way the letters feel in my mouth and that sticky, golden picture they paint in my head. Caramel.

I wasn't the one who picked it, obviously. My boss, Kenny, picked it for me.

"We'll call you Caramel! That name's just perfect for you, honey!" He had exclaimed right after hiring me.

"Perfect for what?" I would have liked to ask. "Perfect for disgusting entitled men to fetishize me based on the colour of my skin, the colour which has never made me feel like I fit in anywhere? Perfect for the clients to make a million perverted jokes about? Perfect for you to make money off?"

But I was never a particurlarly outspoken or brave person and I needed the job so I kept my goddamn mouth shut and forced myself to smile at him.

"I like Caramel."

The biggest fucking lie I have ever told.

,,Wonderful!" Kenny had clapped his hands in delight. ,,It'll attract quite an audience, I'm sure of it. Now, Kimberly will work with you on your dancing skills, Deborah will show you how we work the Bar and I'm sure Louise will be able to borrow you a nice pair of Heels till you're able to get your own! Are you excited?''

,,Mmh."

Again I had just smiled and kept my thoughts to myself.

And that ended up paying off.

I have been working in The Venus fly Trap, a strip club located in one of the rougher areas in New York, for a little over two years now.

When I first walked in I had been 19 years old and broke, with nothing but a high school diploma I had barely managed to get.

Now at twenty-one I live in a nice apartment, own a huge wardrobe full of branded clothing and just started my second semester of medical school.

It was not easy.

When I first started I had no idea how to dance on a pole. I was lacking the coordination and the muscle mass. My arms and legs would bruise so badly that one time, when I was walking outside wearing a low cut top a lady came up to me and gave me the number of a domestic violence shelter.

There where nights where I had barely managed to make as little as 25 Dollars and even on considerably good nights I used to never make more than one or two hundred.

Then one night where I had only made 36 dollars, four months after I got hired, I went to Kenny with tears in my eyes and asked him what I was doing wrong.

,,All the other girls never make less than 100 dollars a night! Kimberly says she makes up to 3000 on a good night!"

I had been on the verge of crying. My voice had sounded shaky and pitiful.

,,Why am I not making that kind of money? Am I just not good enough of a dancer? Am I not beautiful enough, is that it?"

Kenny had sighed.
,,No, honey, you're gorgeous. I mean it. And you're young! You're easily the prettiest one of my girls!"

,,Really?"

,,Yes!" He had reassured me. ,,The problem is that you don't know how to sell yourself! But don't worry I'll help you with that."

The next time I came to work Kenny had already created Caramel for me. What used to be just a name was now a whole fake persona. My fake persona.

,,Listen." He said ,,Your name Caramel is perfect, but the problem is that you don't know who Caramel is. And people recognize that based on the way you dance! You don't even know who you're supposed to portray so how the hell would the clients know?!"

I had stared at him, not knowing what to say. What did any of that have to do with making money?

He had continued without noticing my skeptesism. ,,When I see you on that stage tonight, I don't want to see you. I need you to forget who you are and just become someone else. Become Caramel!"

,,And what is Caramel like?" I had asked in a nervous voice.

He had put both his hands on my shoulders and looked directly into my eyes.

,,Let me tell you what Caramel is like! Caramel is fun, beautiful and young! Caramel is a great dancer who moves her body with confidence! Caramel is seductive and sexy, but not too slutty. Caramel never has a single night where she makes less than 500 Dollars. Oh, and she's hispanic! Can you do a spanish accent?"

,,What? Why?"

In that moment one of the other girls had called out Kenny's name. He had taken his hands off of my shoulder.

,,Oh you know! That whole fantasy of the sexy Latina girl sells pretty well and you look the part. Just say you're Columbian or Cuban or some shit. And do the accent!" He had said while walking away.

I had stood there unable to move.

On the first night of trying to be Caramel I had made a little over 260 Dollars, more than ever before. The night after I made double the amount. And the night after that I had managed to literally earn my rent in the span of 9 hours.

It didn't take long for me to attract a loyal base of regular clients. Soon enough people would come up to the Bar and start asking if Caramel was dancing tonight or if the "latina girl" was avalaible.

Kenny had been very pleased. ,,See, honey? I told you every man likes to fantasize about a fiery latina! And by now I think you've understood what we do here, at this place, don't you?! We turn those dirty fantasies into money!"

Kenny knows how to do Business, I give him that.

Thanks to his advice I had made it! I had been able to save up enough money to quit my dayjob in a Café and start going to College.

More than that, becoming Caramel has teached me a valuable lesson: The truth did not fucking matter!

I am not hispanic, not even a tiny bit, but who would ever know that, as long as I remembered to put on an accent and use random spanish words like "hola" , "gracias" and "muy caliente" in my conversations with clients. Not that they where ever really interested in talking.

I used to feel bad about what I was doing, about the lie I was living nearly every night, but at the end of the day...

Was it my fault that I looked as though I was hispanic? No.

I have a black dad and a white mom and I guess I happen to fit into the loose-curls-hazel-eyes-light-skin-biracial-girl category that looks just exotic enough to peak a guys interest while not beeing too far off from being white. So why not take advantage of it?

Over time I grew to like being Caramel.

Having a fake persona to do the work at the stripclub was a relief. When I was Caramel I found myself beeing more confident, more self - assured than ever before.

Having a second identity had become a way to protect my real self from all the things I saw, all the things I had to do to make it in the industry. I could seperate the girl going to College in sweatpants and a hoodie from the girl that shaked her bare butt cheeks in a Stripclub.

Over time I desperately started to need that separation to keep me sane.

My real name is Angela.

,,That means Angel." My mom had often said to me as a kid.

,,In what language?" I had asked.

Every single time Mom had shrugged and put on a face of bewilderment. ,,Uhh... Italian maybe? I don't know. But I do know that it means angel! You're my little angel, Angela! Now don't ya fly away!"

Then she would always lean forward and act as if she was grabbing my wings and the childhood version of Angela would giggle till she was out of breath.

Caramel sometimes giggles in a similar way when she talkes to clients, just not as happy.

Angela is not like Caramel at all. She is not seductive or fun or sexy or any of that!

She is quite shy and doesn't talk much even though she hates beeing alone and wishes to form meaningful friendships. She dreams of beeing a doctor one day and saving peoples life, but for now, Angela is just an ordinary student.

Every morning, she gets up and covers the dark circles under her eyes with concealer. Today is no different. Then she brushes her teeth and leaves to get to class.

And Caramel? Caramel is sleeping right now. Waiting for tonight. Waiting for bright red lights, loud music, men and money to wake her up.

In less than 16 hours it will be her turn to shine.