On Becoming Mae: An Unexpected Journey
Written by Mae B. Wilde
Like so many people I know, the world raised me to be smaller. I grew up in the noughties on the beaches of the Gold Coast surrounded by impossibly tanned, thin, carefree bodies grooving to RnB music, but I was a pale, chubby kid with an overactive brain and a penchant to belt out Queen songs. I was reminded regularly that sex was for men, dancing was for the thinner girls, and that I should ‘keep it down’. I enjoyed cabaret, custard, and curvy stomachs and I laughed loudly. I eventually learned not to, or at least not quite as much, and entered adulthood unsteady on my feet.
I bought my first ticket to a burlesque show as an eighteen year old living in the UK, and immediately fell in love with its bawdiness and fun, but my journey to performing was a trail of distraction and insecurity. I got wrapped up in living and working overseas. I attempted theatre but lacked the required enthusiasm and vibrato. I dared to express my budding sexuality, and was manhandled back into my allocated box. I spent years sitting in audiences being tragic, hoping someone would give me permission to participate like some starlet in the movies I loved - that person makes me laugh now, the dear little hurt thing she was, finding her slice of drama in the shitty grind of growing up.
Time shifted, my heart was captured by someone who nurtured the strength in me and supported my independence, society inched ahead, and one day a digital marketing algorithm served me up an advertisement for beginner burlesque classes in Richmond. After six months of letting the idea roll around my anxious mind, I clicked ‘Book’.
I snuck into my first class, sure I was about to go through that much-hated but well-learned ritual of standing in a space I did not belong. Instead, I was greeted by the powerful and kind Domino de Jour, who glittered from teeth to toe, gently demanded we never speak ill of our bodies in her presence, and always asked permission before touching us. Within the first five minutes, I was smiling from the guts out and for eight weeks I treasured every second I spent in class.
In a display of overwhelming support, my friends all bought tickets to see me. I held my terror back as I stood waiting to go onstage, shrinking among the confident, beautiful, very naked people that definitely belonged and knew exactly what they were doing. I hit the stage, everything in my head went dim, and I reached out for my first smile. After the show, one of my friends held me by the shoulders and said “You have never, ever looked so comfortable and happy as you did up there” and my head and heart clicked into alignment for the first time. I was a performer, baby, and I had found my stage.
Mae B Wilde performing ‘Wax Stripper’ at the Maison Burlesque ‘Solo Showcase’ 2023. Photography credit by Marcus Keily.
At Maison Burlesque, lessons were laid out like a buffet ready for me to devour. I grew bigger and louder and better under the guidance of people who knew what it felt like to be hungry, throwing ideas and history and praise and challenges at me each week. I started out believing I would fall easily into classic burlesque styling, but found myself reaching for the teachers with flavours furthest away from me to get my fill. At one of the Solo Showcases, Poppy gently probed when I would put together my own act. After six months of beating back that tragic little voice of doubt, I clicked ‘Apply’.
I chose my name from two provocative and witty people I admire (Mae West and Oscar Wilde) because I want to be precise with what I have to say, and I hope to be a bit outrageous when I say it. The play on words exists because I think it’s true to who I am both on and off stage. By accessing a broad range of styles, I’ve learned I am capable of erotic flurries, whipping clothes off my body with gusto, laughing like a pig. But I can also be serious, reflective, and slow. I may be wild, but I'll do it when I damn well want to. When I’m ready.
I’ve learned that the combined qualities I’m deeply attracted to are cleverness and audacity. Whether it’s funny or devastating, I love seeing artists say something completely new or shake up an existing idea in an interesting way. It’s a high bar to set for a newbie, but when I’m putting together an act, I try and ask myself where the novelty is and how I can make it more M(a)e.
I’ve learned that beating back imposter syndrome is a practice, not an end-state. In the days before I performed my first act, I had the thought that it really, really should be performed by someone else and that I was not the right body/woman to tell this story. I said this to Maple Rose who was mentoring me ahead of my debut. She laughed lightly, reminded me it was too late now, and encouraged me to persevere. When I threw it on stage, I found that version myself waiting there, the person who I thought could tell that story. Each time I go to step on stage, I have to remind myself through shaking hands that if nothing else, this next performance will teach me something new.
As a kid that grew up in a strict, conservative household, and lacking the conventional standards of beauty and grace, I learned that humour was an easy way to diffuse tension and gain acceptance. Early on in performing, I found I instinctively grabbed for the self-deprecating, goofy laugh rather than try and be taken seriously. I am starting to let go of that crutch, hone my understanding of comedic timing, and allow myself space to be witnessed in peace.
Mae B Wilde performing ‘Blues Burlesque’ at the Maison Burlesque ‘Cherry Poppers Showcase’ 2023. Photography credit by 3 Fates Media.
I’ve learned that you have to grant yourself permission before anyone else will, which is a powerful realisation when you’re wielding a whole character that’s under your development. Letting Mae do something onstage means letting myself do the same offstage, and so we’ve developed together, Mae growing from my need to grow. As Mae has become more bold, so have I. As Mae has explored her humour, so have I. As Mae has outwardly expressed queerness, so have I.
I have battered myself with many ‘shoulds’ in my first year as a solo artist, trying to take on a range of fabulous and opposing advice on what act to do next, which producers to pitch to, how to build a social media presence and feeling overwhelmed by the talent I am surrounded by. As a kid that was told she was too much, I was now a woman that felt not enough. Early in this battle, I heard the quote below from Ira Glass on one of his podcasts (ugh, I know, sorry) and it has helped me a great deal:
“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know it’s normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work… It’s normal to take a while. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”
The common piece of advice I’ve received is to create as many different things as possible while you're still developing your art. Six months after my first act, I finally felt ready to create more. My ‘Wax Stripper’ is political and funny. My ‘Purple People Eater’ is camp and strange. I'm working with Bella de Jac on a serious, skillful piece that is pushing my brain and body hard. I’m determined to have a classic routine on stage by the end of the year. Each act is a new inhale, inspired by an entirely different set of styles and references that help expand my knowledge of performance and human connection and help to refine my taste.
Mae was born from a pressing need for me to expand out of the mould I’d been set in. She’s still around I hope in part because she delights or excites audiences, but also because there’s bigger, smarter, clearer things left for her to say. I am still moving forward, building my slightly disappointing art and costumes and makeup and photos, sometimes with joy and sometimes with angst, but always expanding.
About Mae B. Wilde
Photography credit by Jayden Byrne Photography.
Mae B Wilde burst onto the Maison Burlesque Solo Showcase stage in 2023 in a flurry of energy and popped up all around Melbourne since.
From boat to Bauhaus and back, she's been connecting with audiences and stripping down at every opportunity.
Mae puts the bust in bustling, the erotic in neurotic, and the cheese in 'she's really going to do that?', bringing to the stage a contempt for convention topped with a wink and a smile.