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Privacy Policy A legal disclaimer The explanations and information provided on this page are only general and high-level explanations and information on how to write your own document of a Privacy Policy. You should not rely on this article as legal advice or as recommendations regarding what you should actually do, because we cannot know in advance what are the specific privacy policies you wish to establish between your business and your customers and visitors. We recommend that you seek legal advice to help you understand and to assist you in the creation of your own Privacy Policy. Privacy Policy - the basics Having said that, a privacy policy is a statement that discloses some or all of the ways a website collects, uses, discloses, processes, and manages the data of its visitors and customers. It usually also includes a statement regarding the website’s commitment to protecting its visitors’ or customers’ privacy, and an explanation about the different mechanisms the website is implementing in order to protect privacy. Different jurisdictions have different legal obligations of what must be included in a Privacy Policy. You are responsible to make sure you are following the relevant legislation to your activities and location. What to include in the Privacy Policy Generally speaking, a Privacy Policy often addresses these types of issues: the types of information the website is collecting and the manner in which it collects the data; an explanation about why is the website collecting these types of information; what are the website’s practices on sharing the information with third parties; ways in which your visitors and customers can exercise their rights according to the relevant privacy legislation; the specific practices regarding minors’ data collection; and much, much more. To learn more about this, check out our article “Creating a Privacy Policy ”.

Photography SAM DAMESHEK Model BROOKE FLECCA Graphic Design SARAH SMITH In NEW YORK, NY

Photography SAM DAMESHEK Model SIENNA SCHMIDT Styling SARAH SMITH In PARIS, FRANCE !

Written by FOX SINCLAIR Photography FOX SINCLAIR Graphic Design SARAH SMITH For SOAP MAGAZINE "Night School" 2024 My education didn’t prepare me for the real world—but Jumbo’s did. Not my parents. Not church. Not the liberal arts degree from my sweet little lesbian college. What actually trained me in power, presence, boundaries, and womanhood was dancing at a tiny rock ’n’ roll strip club in Hollywood called Jumbo’s Clown Room. I started in 2013. I was 23 and deeply underqualified for what I was stepping into. I showed up in a baby pink bodysuit and six-inch light-up heels (both of which I’d retire almost immediately), thinking I’d just dance a little, make some money, and make my ex-boyfriend regret my loss. What I didn’t realize was that I was enrolling in a decade-long course on everything I hadn’t been taught growing up. In my conservative Christian household, sexuality was a touchy subject—never discussed openly, and by default, made taboo. It wasn’t until I commodified it—claimed it, performed it, profited from it—that I began to understand its weight and power. "Life in Red" 2018 The first few months felt like rushing a sorority—if the sorority was run by chain-smoking showgirls in eight-inch heels who didn’t tip-toe around your feelings. I came in giggly, friendly, and painfully Southern. The girls weren’t impressed. At Jumbo’s, respect wasn’t handed out—it was earned, with attitude, resilience, and a flawless strut to the jukebox. I didn’t have years on my belt as a stripper so, naturally, there was some vetting. Eventually, I found my footing. My heels got higher, my outfits smaller, my patience shorter, and my confidence louder. I learned how to talk to anyone. I learned how to feel perfectly fine leaving a conversation the second it got dull. I learned how to read a room, flip it, and make someone feel like the star of a fantasy—while secretly planning what I’d order for dinner. The photos in this piece were taken during that time—on a half-frame flea market camera I found in Austria, loaded with discontinued 1600 ISO film. I never used a flash, out of respect for the club’s strict no-photo policy- a policy I enjoyed as I navigated the outwardness of this “taboo” life I had chosen. These were quiet captures of costume changes, cash counts, cigarette breaks, and shared glances. No one was performing for the lens. They were just working— uniquely existing— and I was lucky enough to document it. "Views of Getting Ready" 2019 Soon, like everything, it changed. COVID hit. The club restructured. Fuji stopped making the film. My negatives were stolen from the trunk of my car. The dancers I came up with moved on. A new era began. But those years—that era—were the golden ones. We were half-dressed, fully aware, and having the time of our lives. I miss it. It felt more like home than anywhere else ever has. Jumbo’s was my master’s degree—not just in stripping, but in life. In power, performance, and presence. In boundaries, business, and self-worth. And now, diploma in hand (figuratively, of course), I get to see where that education takes me next. I’m just happy I have these fleeting moments on film to remember it. "A Rollie in Between" 2018

Photography SACHA COHEN Model SCOUT PRITCHETT Graphic Design SARAH SMITH

Photography SAM DAMESHEK Model KRISTEN KIEHNLE Graphic Design SARAH SMITH At TAHITI, FRENCH POLYNESIA TAHITI DROP 4/5

Photography JEAN AMBROJO Model NISSIA BENGHAZI Graphic Design SARAH SMITH In THE MALDIVES

Photography SAM DAMESHEK Model RENEE MURDEN Graphic Design SARAH SMITH At TAHITI, FRENCH POLYNESIA TAHITI DROP 3/5

Photography SAM DAMESHEK Clothing by WILD WEST SOCIAL HOUSE Model KELLY GALE from MAGNOLIA ENTERTAINMENT Graphic Design SARAH SMITH At ELSEWHERE, TOPANGA BY PETIT ERMITAGE Wearing DOLCE AND GABBANA, BALENCIAGA, YVES SAINT LAURENT WANT TO SEE MORE?

Photography SAM DAMESHEK Model FABIENNE HAGEDORN Graphic Design SARAH SMITH In SAYULITA, MEXICO

Photography SAM DAMESHEK Clothing by WILD WEST SOCIAL HOUSE Model MICHAELA BARTLEY Graphic Design SARAH SMITH At ELSEWHERE, TOPANGA BY PETIT ERMITAGE Wearing DOLCE AND GABBANA, COMME DES GARÇONS, GUCCI

Written by KENDALL CORNISH For SOAP MAGAZINE Graphic Design SARAH SMITH I used to fuck like a method actress. I played the triple threat: director, lead actress, and critic. My one-woman show featured moans, back arches, and hair flips executed with the precision of a Rolex. I was about as spontaneous as a space launch. The irony, of course, was that in my quest to appear effortlessly sensual, I'd become a walking, talking baby-making infographic. Each encounter was less about human connection and more about impressing an imaginary jury of sexual sophisticates who existed entirely in my imagination. The real casualties of impossible standards weren't just my authenticity — they were the genuine connections I was desperately trying to manufacture. I'd become so terrified of not measuring up that I shape-shifted to fit whatever ideal my current partner seemed to desire. But this obsession with relational perfection isn't just my personal neurosis — it's a collective delusion. Hollywood and porn culture have tag-teamed to convince us that every sexual encounter should involve mind-reading, synchronized orgasms, and clear skin. But, we're living in an era where the average person's sexual knowledge comes from a combination of poorly executed high school sex ed and a bukkake of unrealistic porn scenarios. Research shows that media exposure significantly influences our sexual attitudes, which basically means we're all walking around with sexual expectations crafted by people who've probably never had good sex themselves. Romantic comedies are especially ridiculous — spoiler alert: real relationships involve more queefs than sweeping declarations of love. That’s not to say no one will ever declare their love to you in the pouring rain, but that expecting it is hurting your sex life. The most tragic casualty in this performance-obsessed landscape? Genuine arousal. A comprehensive study revealed that media consumption creates a sexual performance anxiety so intense it could make a NASA stress test feel like a yoga retreat. Some of us are still so busy worrying about whether we look sexy that we've forgotten sex is supposed to be a good time. We’re starring in our own personal pornos, but the only audience members are our own crippling self-doubts. The irony is that in our quest for sexual perfection, we've made sex monumentally less enjoyable. Porn has become our collective sexual education, which is like learning quantum mechanics from a children's picture book. One study found that male porn viewers are more likely to become distracted by body and performance issues during actual sex. So, many of our performative efforts are not for nothing. But here's the abject truth: Our sexual expectations are a reflection of something much deeper than physical performance. They're a manifestation of our collective anxiety about vulnerability and the terrifying prospect of being seen. Those of us who do construct these elaborate sexual personas as emotional armor believe that if we can just perform perfectly, we'll be safe from rejection, judgment, and the messy complexity of genuine human connection. TikTok, IG, and the like only exacerbate this problem. We're bombarded with carefully curated images of couple goals that make the average relationship look like a dumpster fire in comparison. But for every perfect beach sunset selfie, there's an argument about who forgot the sunscreen. These picture-perfect posts create a dangerous illusion that real companionship is always photogenic and exciting. It's a highlight reel masquerading as real life, and it's making us all feel like we're failing at relationships when we're doing just fine. Hollywood, though, could arguably be the OG source of many a great sexpectation. They've convinced us that love at first sight is not only possible but probable, that grand gestures solve all err, and that there's always a perfectly timed rainstorm when “the one” goes in for the kiss. What's the solution to this mess we've created? It's time to lower the bar. And I don't mean settling for less than you deserve. I mean redefining what you deserve in the first place. It's time to embrace the glorious chaos of real human connection, warts (yep) and all. What about if your particular brand of sexual satisfaction evades the mainstream? A queer friend of mine recently put it perfectly over drinks: “Straight people think they have it bad with performance pressure? Try navigating intimacy when there's no societal script to follow. Though honestly, maybe that's our superpower — we've always had to write our own rules anyway.” I repeat: lowering our expectations doesn't mean accepting poor treatment or settling for unsatisfying relationships. It means letting go of the idea that every moment needs to be as idyllic as many of us have been raised to believe. It means prioritizing pleasure over performance. It means communicating openly about fantasies and boundaries without fear of judgment. It means laughing when things go wrong, because they will. Whether you had the perfect relationship role models or have never known love, unrealistic expectations of sex develop in the unlikeliest of places. When we stop treating our sexual encounters like performance reviews and start approaching them with the enthusiasm of someone who just discovered there’s nothing wrong with missionary, that's when the real magic happens. It's time to lower our standards for physical perfection (which, yes, means giving dad bods and mosquito bites a moment in the sun) and raise our standards for genuine connection. Because at the end of the day, trying too hard is a sure-fire way to wind up unsatisfied. We're all just trying our best to navigate the chaos of human desire. And maybe experience an orgasm that doesn't require pretending we're someone else to achieve it.