At most any nightclub packed wall to wall, teeming with body heat, it’s not out of the ordinary for a few patrons to dance or lounge around shirtless—that is, if you’re a man.
But there’s another important layer to Sullivan-Knoff’s suit, which she highlighted in an interview with the Reader last week. Sullivan-Knoff, a queer, transgender woman, points out that the ordinance also places transgender and gender non-conforming people in a precarious position—one that’s been reinforced by the relentless national debate about trans people using bathrooms, locker rooms, and other gendered public accommodations.
“Even though I was indoors in someone else’s bathroom, I had a moment to just exhale,” she says. “Hopefully [the piece] will encourage [people] to take those moments with themselves. . . in an empowering, self-love sort of way.”
Before someone cues up Mrs. Lovejoy’s “Won’t somebody please think of the children,” it’s worth noting that, yes, many public nudity ordinances were designed to protect children—and, yes, even adults—from exposure that could cross boundaries of consent. That protection isn’t being challenged by the lawsuit, nor would it go away if the liquor license ordinance changes.
But when toxic masculinity gives way to assaults in strip clubs, it’s not the alcohol or the breasts that caused the problem—it’s the person who committed the an act of violence (and, in some cases, negligent business owners).
