With The Wam Bam Club, I’ve always aimed for a burlesque show with a strong comedy theme, but lately my own material has taken a turn for the satirical. Looking back, it feels like it was inevitable. I do burlesque, I do comedy burlesque, and burlesque is satirical by nature, right down to its roots.

Burlesque began in theatres and music halls towards the close of the nineteenth century; it was a term given to the short satirical sketches performed before a main show, often lampooning the current social figures and issue of the day—sometimes even the play that was to follow—much to the delight of the crowds. These sketches involved the spoken word, music, magic or dance to keep them light and entertaining.

During the early 20th Century, female burlesque performers started to include controversial stripteases at the end of their performances, which was shocking at the time. However, it got a reaction and generated interest and discussion as well as the promised titillation. This is what appeals to me about burlesque. It’s much more than suspenders and nipple tassels hanging off perfectly pert bosoms. A true burlesquer puts thought, social commentary and comedy into their performance; they should have something to say and a unique way to say it. With the recent resurgence of burlesque as mainstream entertainment, I fear burlesque’s satirical edge has been lost. An entire generation has bought into the style, but has low expectations for the content. Things can and should be better.

Observation is the key. There is something quite satisfying for audience and performer when well-observed social commentary is juxtaposed with seemingly frivolous striptease. It’s about challenging people’s expectations. They walk into the club expecting feathers and frills and they get that, but so much more besides. They are often shocked and surprised, but pleasantly so.

I am not trying to change the world, far from it. History is littered with comedians who tried to change the world through satire, and every one of them was made miserable because of it, then made even more miserable the more successful they became. Every satirist who’s reached the top of the game has learned the same painful lesson: satire in no way changes the lives of the people it satirizes. However, this isn’t to say satire can’t make a difference.

I will never forget the reaction from the audience when I first performed my suicide bomber strip tease routine. It began with me singing about my love for Osama bin Laden. You could mark the moment when the penny dropped for the audience and they realised what I was doing. There was an audible howl of delight and support, so much so I could no longer hear the backing track.

I don’t think for one second that this will cause bin Laden to give up his futile attempts to annihilate the West, but I just might ridicule him enough to persuade audience members to see him for the fool he is — which is important. Making evil men into monsters is counter-productive, since one man’s monster is always another man’s inspiration. A fool is nobody’s idol. So I flip things and make him the object of my affections. It challenges and amuses the audience and allows me to subtly shape the way they see the world without sounding like a party political broadcast.

I like to take my performances to extremes and scrape the line of conventional acceptability. This is the way burlesque should be: bold and controversial. Humour is a powerful tool, a great communicator, and a feast best served with a generous helping of bump and grind.