Midnight Rose: Shining a Spotlight on Go-Go’s
Sipping and Spilling Tea with Curtis Goodman
By Trad Sevin | Photos By Tyler Boshard
We’ve all seen him, but do we know him? Curtis Goodman, the tall glass of water who towers above six feet in platform heels, has been setting the standard for go-go dancing in Las Vegas and beyond for more than two decades. A familiar face at Piranha Nightclub, Curtis is like a sparkler on the Fourth of July, stealing the eyes and hearts of those who linger in the dark. His command of the club scene runs parallel to a lifelong rapport in professional dance and entertainment, which has brought him from San Diego to New York City and, finally, to Las Vegas. With such a stellar essence, Curtis creates a magnetism in his work that has pushed the boundaries of acceptance and expression in the queer space through the years, but how does he do it?
By soaking in a rosewater bath every Friday, of course.
“I think I represent someone who is very strong in who they are, you know more than being gay and more than wearing heels,” Curtis tells me over bubble tea. “You know, some people are unsure of themselves or they’re still figuring out who they are and I’m so comfortable with who I am that I think other people gravitate towards that.”
We’re sitting inside Afterlife Tea and Boba Room in Chinatown, a queer and woman-owned tea and dessert shop tucked away from the rumble of Downtown or the Strip. Curtis orders the “Rose Quartz”, a rose tea drizzled with rose jam.
“It’s my weekly ritual,” he says with a smile. “Sometimes I even put rose petals in the bathtub too!”
Cutting out time for himself has become paramount in Curtis’s career, which has enjoyed a steady climb since his explosive entrance into Las Vegas back in 2006. After growing up in San Diego and running the competitive dance circuits, he drove cross-country to New York City at 21 and dove headfirst into entertainment. In 2008 and 2009, Curtis even danced with The Cheetah Girls (yes, those cheetahs) for their Walt Disney World and Walt Disney Land performances. He earned his spots and wears them with pride.
“I knew there was a party going on somewhere out there, and I just had to be a part of it,” he says.
Upon arriving in Las Vegas, Curtis joined the ranks of Club Krave, the legendary queer club that hosted Naomi Campbell, Elton John, and countless other celebrities before its final closure in 2014.
“Krave was massive, just imagine something like Tao or Marquee but like, gay,” he says. Following Krave, Curtis mounted the go go blocks at Piranha and has been lighting the nights for eighteen years. His evolution as a performer ushered a new era for go-go dancers in the queer space, one that is still improving today.
“When I first started out all the go-go boys were still in that era of like big muscle boys in all black leather, and that was it,” he explains. “I was the weird one, but the audiences were looking for a change.”
When you visit Piranha Nightclub, the dancers are typically dressed in slinky, color coordinated attire with shreds of personality sewn together in fishnets, slings, or cheeky money belts. You’re free to interact as much or as little as you please, but it’s hard to ignore the party circle that surrounds Curtis, who can shoot his leg up to the ceiling like a bedazzled baton. The energy at Piranha is contagious, but Curtis invites patrons to be their most authentic selves.
“Back in the day, I was showing up in like Puma tennis shoes and doing pirouettes on the platform,” he says. “I think challenging those norms gives people permission to be who they want to be.”
Even at a young age, Curtis was pushing back on what people accepted and expected for dancers. In San Diego, he was the first male cheerleader on his high school cheer squad. Today, his work as a go-go dancer echoes the responsibility of cheerleaders by empowering others to steal their own spotlight and celebrate this moment in time, whether it’s a Pride parade or a sweaty night on the dance floor. More recently, the role of go-go’s has spun out of the confines of nightclubs and entered a community-driven space where people like Curtis are not just dancers, but also public personalities, leaders, and role models. Perhaps more than anything, it’s about sharing the disco ball.
“Queer spaces are so family-oriented, and it’s ironic because they always tell you how there’s life after high school but really life is just high school,” Curtis says. “Those mean girls, you know, they stay mean girls! And I think that’s why these go-go dancers have so much power because we’re friends, family to people.”
In many ways, Piranha is like the cool kid’s table where everyone gets a seat. This travels far in a city like Las Vegas, where exclusivity and selectiveness are baked into the mainstream nightlife experience. Clubs along the Strip are notorious for turning people away without reason, overcharging on entry fees, loosely enforcing sexist dress codes, and upholding misogynistic policies and practices. It’s a system that supports heteronormality and, by extension, actively excludes many members of the queer community. Spaces like Piranha encourage inclusion and seek to dismantle the dusty protocols that still plague the Strip and Downtown, and performers like Curtis are marching forward in pursuit of evolution for dancers of all skill levels.
“Many of those clubs treat people as disposable, because they are,” he says. “For them it’s a numbers game and they’re just looking to rake in that money. They don’t care if you leave because there’s a million other people behind you waiting in line to get inside.”
As a major destination and incubator for entertainment, Vegas deals in high-contrast artistry that serves every kind of market. Beyond nightlife, the city plays host to world-class shows both on and off the Strip. Curtis splits his time between go-go dancing at Piranha and performing in Zombie Burlesque, a sexy revue at the V Theatre inside Planet Hollywood.
“Vegas is an amazing homebase for me,” he says. “People visit the city from all over the world and they’ll invite myself and other Piranha dancers to go go at their Pride events like Kona in Hawai’i or Seattle Pride.”
With a career spanning more than twenty years, Curtis has become a staple in the Vegas landscape. Swiping through Instagram pages, it’s very easy to understand the impact that performers like Curtis can have on locals and tourists alike, who shine their smartphones up at him filming reels and stories of a weekend they’ll never forget.
“I feel like I’ve been climbing a mountain and I’m at a place right now where I can finally enjoy the view,” he says.
Naturally, Curtis seeks to charm and enchant each time he steps up to the box at Piranha, but what follows is an empowering force that arms a curious bystander with the confidence to approach, say hello, maybe slip a few bills (always tip your dancers), and be themselves without judgment.
“Sure I’m here to dance,” he says. “But if I can bring smiles to somebody else, that’s even better!”
