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When I was a stripper in the 1990s, I discovered that the most dangerous piece of furniture in any club wasn’t the pole.

It was the waiting sofa. This is where the dancers who weren’t busy with customers hung out. And in my early days, I was a regular. Cigarette after cigarette, I created artificial bonds with my coworkers on the waiting sofa exchanging mean-spirited commentary about customers and other dancers.

“Oh my God, look at Jasmine. Does she ever change her facial expression?”

“I can’t believe Tony still dances like it’s her first day.”

“Don’t talk to the guy in the back row. He’s wearing bedazzled jeans.”

We had some great laughs, but most of my time on the waiting sofa was a colossal waste of energy. Nothing is more depressing than spiraling down with a group of anxious, idle coworkers.

One night when the evening lull hit and the waiting sofa opened for business, I made a different decision. I decided to run a little experiment on myself. Instead of defaulting to the waiting sofa, I would use every lull as a test—what happens if I redirect my energy instead of feeding the unproductive spiral?

On the first night, I called an old friend and we talked about boys and lip gloss. (Mind you, I had to use the payphone in the dressing room because this was before cell phones had been invented.)

The next night, I organized my locker so neatly, the Container Store would have wanted to put it on display.

The night after that, I sat by myself and meditated as best I could with pumping rave music blasting through the walls.

After three nights of avoiding the waiting sofa, my stress was down and my mood was up. And whenever my mood was up, I always made more money.

I wasn’t able to fully understand why doing these things put me in a better mood until years later, when I read this by Eckhart Tolle, “The ego could be defined simply in this way: a dysfunctional relationship with the present moment.”

That’s the waiting sofa in one sentence. Every woman on that sofa, including me, was having a bad relationship with the present moment.

Eckhart goes on to say something that I think is one of the most useful things ever written about being a human being. “Is it at this moment that you can decide what kind of relationship you want to have with the present moment? Do I want the present moment to be my friend or my enemy?”

That split-second decision to make the present moment your friend, made again and again until it becomes a natural part of your being, will change your life.

And this is why this advice is so valuable for reaching your sales goals. When you’re grounded in the present moment, you’re able to have sales conversations as someone who genuinely loves what they do and what they’re selling. And that is more persuasive than any pitch you could write or script you could memorize.

XXXO

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When I was a stripper in the 1990s, we didn’t have office kitchens—but we did have a dressing room fridge.

And you know that experience where a coworker eats your food out of the office fridge?

That happened to me too.

I’m just pretty sure I didn’t handle it the way most people would.

Here’s what happened… One night, I was famished and ready to eat my favorite foot-long turkey-and-Swiss Subway sandwich. But when I opened the fridge—no sandwich.

After frantically searching the locker room, I spotted a crumpled Subway wrapper shoved into the back of a top shelf with whatever was left of my sandwich.

Nico!

To be fair, I’d been warned about Nico—whose favorite pastime included eating other dancers’ food. I hadn’t taken the warning seriously. Apparently, that night my luck had run out.

Now, you could use my hairspray, borrow my perfume, my makeup, even an outfit in a pinch. But I drew the line at my turkey with extra mayo.

I was 21 years old at the time and obviously extremely immature because here’s what I did next.

I took the remaining one-third of my sandwich, found Nico’s leather motorcycle jacket on the coat rack, unzipped the front left pocket, and squished every last bit of bread, turkey, cheese, mustard, mayo, vinegar, oil, salt, pepper, lettuce, and tomato into every crack and seam.

If Nico wanted my sandwich, she could have it to go. She never touched my food again.

I think about Nico more than you’d expect.

Because I apply that same energy to my comment section.

If someone shows up rude or disrespectful, I delete it and block them as soon as I see it. I’m not interested in hosting fights in my own space. Or have people throw insults at me. I’ve had enough of that the nine years I worked in the club. I’ve done my time.

Now…thoughtful feedback is a completely different thing.

I once had a sales page covered in quotes and someone pointed out that almost all of them were from men. She said, “You’re so pro-woman—why are you only quoting men?”

And she was right. I changed it immediately.

That kind of feedback makes my work better and I’m always open to that.

But there’s a difference between someone adding perspective…and someone looking to take a swing.

XXXO

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When I was a stripper in the 1990s, I went out and purchased so many costumes it was as if the department store was on fire.

Everyone at the club envied my collection. But the truth was I had so much to choose from that my wardrobe had turned against me. I was spending more time picking out what to wear than actually making money.

One night my friend Carmella cornered me with a laser-sharp question.

“Bianca (that was my stage name), how much spandex, lace, and leather do you really need in your life?”

She suggested I sell everything (costumes, accessories, shoes) except my two favorite outfits.

I stared at her.

I’d spent years building the ultimate collection. And now Carmella wanted me to throw it all away?

But she told me that when she scaled back to two bikinis, her customers didn’t even notice. And it gave her way more time to make way more money.

Less fuss. More money. No downside. Okay. Sold.

The next day I identified my two favorite money-makers—a neon green bikini and a neon orange bikini. Then I hosted a trunk sale for the other dancers. In a few hours they’d devoured my entire personal inventory, leaving me with a plumped-up wallet and a very slimmed-down closet.

My laundry was cut by ninety-eight percent. I had more money, more time, more energy. And from that day forward, I never agonized over what to wear again.

The 2 Bikini Business Plan was born.

You’re probably doing the same thing I was doing—just with business instead of spandex.

Too many strategies that add up to a whole lot of effort and not enough results. So let’s declutter your business closet.

What are the top two ways you love to connect with your ideal clients?

TikTok? Instagram? YouTube? Emailing your list? Hosting webinars? Pick the ones that feel natural—the ones where you show up and it doesn’t feel like a performance.

(I know a woman who owns a luxury tennis apparel brand who built her entire business connecting with people at country clubs and tournaments. She’ll give out her phone number before she gives you her email address. The phone is her bikini. And she works it better than anyone.)

Find your two bikinis. Do more of that. Do it better than you’ve ever done it before.

And if you’re a maximalist who absolutely cannot survive on two bikinis—fine. Find your top two first. Perfect those. Then add more bikinis.

XXXO