Burlesque Backstage Pass (Article 5) – When the Curtain Closes: the Role of Rejection
- Dee Lightfull
- Jul 16, 2025
- 10 min read
Rejection in burlesque cuts deep. It can hurt more than a hot glue burn.
It’s not just a “no” to a number; it can feel like a “no” to your body, your creativity, your voice, your vulnerability. For many of us, our acts are not just performances, they are extensions of ourselves. We bare not just our bodies, but our histories, our humor, our heartbreak, and our hope. In an art form where you literally undress on stage to reveal not just skin but soul, being passed over for a show or festival can feel like being told: you are not enough. And that lands hard.
I’ll be honest, I researched and wrote this article somewhat selfishly. Publicly, people tend to only see your successes. But, when the curtain closes, behind-the-scenes, it can be rough. What people don’t see is the hours and hours of emails, show submissions, DMs, pitching to venues, and burly admin – most of which is met with rejection. What they “see” is me “booked and busy” for the month and producing another show. Daily, sometimes hourly, I swing back and forth between wanting to quit because it hurts and wanting to never give it up and find my next level up. When you layer rejection on top of the “Mean Girls” stuff we talked about last month, the struggle is real!
But rejection, while painful, is not the end of the road. It’s an emotional and psychological experience that, when understood and metabolized, can fuel artistic growth, deepen self-awareness, and strengthen resilience. Let’s unpack rejection in burlesque through both a personal and a psychological lens; exploring why it hits so hard, what’s happening in our brains and bodies when it does, and how it can actually sharpen us as performers and people.
Why Rejection Hurts SO Damn Much
Burlesque Is Personal, So Rejection Feels Personal
It’s late at night and you open your inbox to find the subject line you’ve been both anticipating and dreading: Show Application Status. You click, breath held, heart thumping, and then comes the gentle (or sometimes not-so-gentle) blow: “We regret to inform you…”
It doesn’t matter how many times you tell yourself it’s not personal. It feels personal. Because it is.
Unlike many other performing arts, burlesque asks performers to draw from the deepest wells of self. Your body becomes your canvas, your choreography your diary, your costuming a statement of identity or subversion. When an act gets rejected, it can feel like the most authentic parts of you are being judged and found lacking. Burlesque isn’t about disappearing into a fictional role. You are the role. Your act is an extension of your identity: your body, your humor, your politics, your history. When a submission is rejected, it can feel like a personal dismissal, not a neutral curatorial choice.
This feeling is compounded by the intimacy of the burlesque community itself. You might know the people making selections. You might see the list of accepted performers and wonder why your name wasn’t among them. You might compare, question, doubt.
It’s not just your art on the line—it’s your sense of belonging.
Psychologically, this hits at our need for social belonging, one of the five basic human needs outlined in Maslow’s hierarchy (Maslow, 1943). Naomi Eisenberger and colleagues (2003) showed in fMRI studies that social rejection activates the anterior cingulate cortex, the same brain area associated with physical pain. This means that rejection literally hurts—not metaphorically, but neurologically.
For many performers, rejection doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It echoes prior insecurities, traumas, or societal messaging. This is what psychologists call schema activation—when a current experience lights up old belief patterns (Young, Klosko & Weishaar, 2003). The rejection email isn’t just about a show or festival; it becomes a mirror for every time we’ve felt “not good enough,” “too much,” or “not what they’re looking for.”
The Systemic Weight Behind Some Rejections
There’s another layer, too, one that stings deeper than any polite rejection email. Many performers from marginalized communities—Black, Indigenous, people of color, fat, disabled, queer, trans, older, disabled, neurodivergent—have long faced structural barriers in the burlesque industry. Sometimes rejection doesn’t feel like a creative judgment. It feels like exclusion, repetition, erasure.
Being told “you’re not what we’re looking for” can echo centuries of institutions saying the same thing.
This is why transparency, diversity in selection panels, and inclusive casting matter so much. They’re not about box-checking; they’re about honoring the full spectrum of burlesque expression and dismantling old gatekeeping models. Until then, for many, rejection can carry the heavy weight of injustice.
What’s Happening in Your Brain
Rejection activates the amygdala (I like to call this your “lizard brain”), triggering the body’s fight-or-flight response. Heart rate spikes, cortisol levels rise, and your sympathetic nervous system goes into overdrive (Sapolsky, 2004).
Emotionally, you might feel anxious, ashamed, angry, or even numb.
Your brain, evolved to protect you from group exile, reads this as a survival threat. But the burlesque stage isn’t a cave. The danger isn’t fatal. Still, your body needs help understanding that.
Enter self-compassion.
Dr. Kristin Neff (2003) describes self-compassion as composed of:
Mindfulness – noticing the pain without over-identifying with it
Common humanity – realizing others share the same experience
Self-kindness – speaking to yourself with care, not cruelty
These practices have been shown to reduce anxiety, increase resilience, and foster more adaptive responses to failure and criticism.
Why Rejection Can Be a Gift (Even if It Feels Like Garbage)
It Clarifies Your Artistic Voice
Most producers aren’t rejecting you—they’re making tough curatorial decisions. Maybe your act didn’t fit the theme. Maybe the lineup needed diversity in genre, props (you can only have so many fan acts or boa numbers in one show!), or tone. Maybe you just had bad timing. I recently did a casting call for a small show I was producing that I had 5 performer slots for, and I received 46 applications! I had to reject incredibly talented people, many of whom I just adore! The rejections were no reflection on talent, there just logistically aren’t enough performance spots.
When you take rejection as an invitation to revisit your act, you might find new clarity, punchier storytelling, or a sharper edge. Many performers say their best work came out of revamping a piece that was once rejected.
Rejection can help clarify the gap between your intention and impact. It challenges you to revisit the purpose, tone, and execution of your act. This connects to Carol Dweck’s (2006) concept of a growth mindset—the belief that ability and creativity can be developed, not fixed. With that lens, rejection isn’t a verdict. It’s a prompt.
Take a good look at yourself as a performer. Are all your acts slow burns and maybe you need to add something with some sass? Do all your numbers include the same prop like a boa, fans, or glove peels (I’m talking to myself about the glove peels…)? Do you need to practice more (sheesh…I’ll just keep calling myself out in this article)? Be honest with yourself and use this rejection as an opportunity to grow as a performer.
If possible, ask for feedback on why you were rejected. Note: not everyone is able to do this for you, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. I got some difficult yet transformative feedback from a festival rejection that transformed my thinking about my acts. The feedback was “she needs to raise her energy up to the level of the song.” I was shooketh. I am known for my energetic performance style! But, as I reflected, I realized I’d been slowly drifting from the style that makes me happiest and resonates with who I am to costumes, moves, and numbers that were more in line with what I thought burlesque “should be.” As soon as I reconnected with authentic self as a performer, you could immediately see it in my numbers.
It Builds Emotional Resilience
Every burlesque legend has faced rejection. Every headliner has been turned down. Every producer has had doors closed in their face. Rejection is not evidence of failure—it’s proof that you’re doing the work. You’re creating. You’re submitting. You’re risking.
There’s a kind of power that grows when you survive disappointment and keep going. When you realize your worth isn’t determined by one booking. When you start to bounce back faster, stronger, feistier.
This is not to romanticize hardship. It's to honor the artists who get up, re-glue their rhinestones, and return to the stage with more fire than ever before.
Resilience is the ability to bounce back from adversity. In psychology, distress tolerance (Linehan, 1993) is a core component of emotional regulation: how we cope with discomfort without spiraling.
Each rejection you process without quitting builds this capacity. Over time, you learn not to fear disappointment. You recognize it as part of the artistic ecosystem—not a stop sign, but a roundabout.
Over time, you learn to separate your personal worth from professional outcomes. That’s powerful.
This kind of resilience (not that toxic resiliency crap!) makes you more confident onstage and backstage. It also builds your ability to deal with criticism, competition, and creative risk; which are all essential to long-term success in burlesque (and life).
It Strengthens Your Connection to the Community
Talking openly about rejection can make you more connected, not less. When we’re vulnerable with our peers about disappointments, it fosters camaraderie and honesty in an industry where imposter syndrome runs rampant.
When seasoned performers share their own rejections, it normalizes the process for newcomers. When producers give feedback with kindness and transparency, it helps everyone grow.
When artists speak openly about rejection, they create a more honest, human burlesque culture. Vulnerability, as Brené Brown (2012) explains, is the birthplace of connection. Admitting that we didn’t get the gig, that we’re disappointed, that we doubted ourselves normalizes the experience. And it gives others permission to feel the same without shame.
By owning our “nos,” we build a stronger community of “yes, I’ve been there too.”
How to Handle Rejection Without Losing Your Sparkle
Let’s be real—it still sucks. So here’s what to do when you get the “unfortunately…” email.
First, allow yourself to feel it. No matter how seasoned you are, rejection can bruise. You’re allowed to mourn. Let yourself sulk for a night, binge a show that makes you laugh, call a performer friend and curse the universe. You don’t have to be gracious right away. Allow yourself to be disappointed. Don’t rush to “learn from it” before you've felt it.
But when the fog lifts, try looking at the “no” from a different angle. Could this be an invitation to edit or rework an act? Could it mean you’re growing beyond a particular space or event? Could it be a logistical thing entirely unrelated to your talent?
Sometimes it helps to reach out (gently) to a producer or curator and ask for feedback. Not every event organizer has the time or bandwidth to respond, but when they do, their insight can be invaluable. That said, only seek feedback if you're ready to hear it. Be honest with yourself. Are you seeking growth or affirmation?
Finally celebrate your courage! Submitting an application for a show is already a win. You showed up for yourself. That’s huge. Celebrate that step. You were brave enough to try. And, don’t stop creating. Keep showing up for your own artistry. The best revenge on rejection is staying creative.
For Producers: Reject With Care
If you’re a show producer or festival curator, remember that every rejection is received by a human being who put themselves out there. Be kind. Be clear. When possible, be transparent. A simple note like, “We loved your submission but were curating around a specific theme” or “We encourage you to submit again in the future” can soften the blow and leave a door open instead of closing it.
You don’t need to explain every decision. But you can affirm the value of every artist who submits. Let performers know that rejection doesn’t mean they don’t belong. You don’t have to coddle, but you can be compassionate.
You’re shaping more than a show—you’re shaping a culture.
The Final Reveal: Rejection Is Not the End. It’s the Interlude.
Rejection is not the opposite of success—it’s a part of it. It doesn’t mean you’re not talented, worthy, or dazzling. It means you’re alive in your art. It means you’re reaching.
Rejection is rarely final. It’s transitional.
Don’t assume it means you’re not magic. It just means there’s another stage, another night, another chance—and it might be even more aligned with who you are becoming. It might push you to submit to a show where you discover a new artistic home. It might simply give you the space to rest, recalibrate, or focus on other parts of your creative life.
What’s more, it offers an opportunity for reflection. Not self-doubt—but genuine, creative inquiry. Was this act ready? Does it express what I want it to say? Is there room to push it further? Have I outgrown it? Or maybe, am I holding back?
These questions are not about perfection. They’re about evolution.
And evolution, darling, is what keeps our art form alive.
In burlesque, we trade in transformation. That moment when the glove slips off, when the lights catch the rhinestones just right, when the audience gasps? That’s the alchemy of vulnerability. Rejection is part of that same process. It is the striptease of becoming.
So collect your “nos” like rhinestones. Each one a lesson. Each one a step. Each one proof that you are reaching, risking, living.
Keep shimmying. Keep applying. Keep creating. In the end, the burlesque world needs your voice. Your body. Your weirdness. Your sparkle. Your story.
Even, especially, when someone tells you no.
Because darling… the stage isn’t going anywhere. And neither are you.
Dee Lightfull is a burlesque performer, producer, and self-proclaimed provocateur who is all about life with a bit more glitter and a dash more sass. Hailing from the heart of Central New York, she is the embodiment of fierce and flirty, a burlesque chameleon who brings a joyous zeal to the stage that is as infectious as it is delightful.
In the series, “Backstage Pass,” she is sharing an in depth look behind-the-scenes: from choosing the perfect music to the ins and outs of marketing yourself to costuming tips to the often-taboo topic of money, you will gain an all-access pass to the backstage of burlesque. Want to make sure she cover a specific topic, email her at deelightfullburlesque@gmail.com.
Dee Lightfull can be found on Instagram or TikTok at @deelightfullburlesque or her website: https://www.deelightfullburlesque.com/
Dee Lightfull merch can be purchased at: https://donmanuelpresents.shop/product-category/dee-lightfull-collection/
References
Brown, B. (2012). Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead. Gotham Books.
Dweck, C. S. (2006). Mindset: The New Psychology of Success. Random House.
Eisenberger, N. I., Lieberman, M. D., & Williams, K. D. (2003). Does rejection hurt? An fMRI study of social exclusion. Science, 302(5643), 290–292.
Lieberman, M. D., Inagaki, T. K., Tabibnia, G., & Crockett, M. J. (2007). Affect labeling attenuates amygdala activity in response to affective stimuli. Psychological Science, 18(5), 421–428.
Linehan, M. M. (1993). Cognitive-Behavioral Treatment of Borderline Personality Disorder. Guilford Press.
Maslow, A. H. (1943). A theory of human motivation. Psychological Review, 50(4), 370–396.
Neff, K. D. (2003). The development and validation of a scale to measure self-compassion. Self and Identity, 2(3), 223–250.
Sapolsky, R. M. (2004). Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers: The Acclaimed Guide to Stress, Stress-Related Diseases, and Coping. Holt Paperbacks.
Young, J. E., Klosko, J. S., & Weishaar, M. E. (2003). Schema Therapy: A Practitioner’s Guide. Guilford Press.
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