They don’t need a stage. No spotlight. No corporate sponsor. Just a pair of heels, a mic, and a room full of people who’ve been told to sit quietly. Squiggles and Sluts isn’t a band. It’s not a comedy troupe. It’s not even really a show. It’s what happens when women stop asking for permission to be loud, messy, and unapologetically themselves. And yes, it started in a basement in Brisbane with a broken speaker and a bet that no one would show up.
People still ask how they got started. The truth? They didn’t. There was no grant, no incubator, no viral TikTok moment. One night, after a gig at a bar that kicked them out for being ‘too much,’ one of them muttered, ‘Let’s just do it where they can’t kick us out.’ So they did. In a friend’s living room. With a phone on a stack of books as a mic stand. That night, someone in the back yelled, ‘This is better than any club I’ve been to.’ And that was the moment it became something real. If you’ve ever scrolled through escort en paris listings looking for something real and found only curated perfection, you know what we’re talking about - authenticity doesn’t come with a filter.
They’re Not Performers. They’re Witnesses.
Squiggles and Sluts doesn’t tell jokes. They tell stories. Real ones. The kind that make you laugh until your ribs hurt, then stop cold because you realize you’ve been there too. One member talks about being followed home by a man who thought her heels meant she was available. Another describes the moment she realized her therapist didn’t believe her when she said she wasn’t ‘asking for it’ - because she was wearing red lipstick and a miniskirt to a job interview. These aren’t monologues. They’re confessions. And the audience? They’re not there to be entertained. They’re there to feel seen.
There’s no script. No cue cards. No lighting technician. Just a circle of chairs, a half-empty bottle of wine, and someone who’s brave enough to say, ‘I didn’t know I was broken until I heard you say it out loud.’ That’s the magic. Not the comedy. Not the fashion. Not even the heels - though they’re iconic. It’s the silence after a story ends. The kind where no one claps right away because they’re still holding their breath.
The Heels Are the Point
Why heels? Not because they’re sexy. Not because they’re trendy. But because they’re a weapon. A tool. A declaration. Wearing heels to a protest, to a job interview, to a parent-teacher meeting - it’s not about looking good. It’s about saying, ‘I didn’t change for you. I didn’t shrink. I didn’t apologize.’
One of the members, who goes by ‘Squiggles’ because she once drew a squiggle on her thigh with a marker during a therapy session and called it her ‘freedom symbol,’ says, ‘I wear heels because I can. And if you think that means I’m easy to read, you’re wrong. I’m the hardest thing you’ll ever try to understand.’
They don’t sell merchandise. No stickers. No hoodies. No NFTs. But if you’ve ever bought a pair of heels that cost more than your rent just to feel like you mattered, you already know their brand.
It’s Not About Sex. It’s About Control.
People keep calling them ‘sex-positive.’ That’s not it. They’re not trying to normalize sex. They’re trying to normalize power. The power to say no. The power to say yes. The power to walk into a room and not explain why you’re dressed the way you are.
There’s a moment in their most famous set - recorded on a shaky iPhone and passed around like a secret - where one of them says, ‘I don’t care if you think I’m a slut. I care if you think I’m a liar.’ The room goes quiet. Then someone whispers, ‘I thought I was the only one.’ That’s when the tears start.
They’ve been called radical. Dangerous. Too much. They’ve been banned from venues. Blocked on social media. Told they’re ‘not what the brand wants.’ But they keep showing up. Because they know something most people don’t: the most revolutionary thing a woman can do today isn’t to change the system. It’s to refuse to play by its rules - and still show up in high heels.
They’re Not a Movement. They’re a Mirror.
You won’t find Squiggles and Sluts on Instagram with a polished feed. No sponsored posts. No influencer collabs. They don’t have a website. No email list. No Patreon. They don’t want followers. They want witnesses.
And that’s why they’ve spread. Not because they’re marketed. But because people need to hear it. The woman in Sydney who drove five hours to a basement show because she hadn’t laughed since her divorce. The college student in Melbourne who came dressed in a suit, then went home and burned her corporate resume. The guy in Perth who showed up just to see what all the fuss was about - and left crying because he realized he’d never listened to his sister.
It’s not about politics. It’s not about feminism in the textbook sense. It’s about the quiet, daily act of refusing to be erased. And sometimes, that act looks like wearing heels to a protest. Or laughing through tears. Or saying, ‘I’m not sorry for being loud.’
What Comes Next?
They don’t talk about the future. Not because they’re afraid. But because they know the future doesn’t need them to plan it. It just needs them to keep showing up.
There’s talk of a book. A documentary. A tour. But they laugh when you ask. ‘We’re not trying to be famous,’ one of them says. ‘We’re trying to be remembered. By the people who needed to hear us.’
If you want to find them, you won’t search online. You’ll ask someone who’s been. You’ll hear it in whispers: ‘There’s a show next week. Basement. Don’t tell anyone.’ And you’ll go. Because you know - if you’re lucky - you’ll leave with more than a story. You’ll leave with permission.
Permission to be messy. To be loud. To wear heels even when your feet hurt. To say, ‘I’m not asking for a platform. I’m building one with my heels.’
And if you’re wondering where to find the next show? Don’t look for tickets. Look for the quietest person in the room. The one who’s smiling through tears. Ask them. They’ll know.
They don’t need your approval. But they might need your presence.
And if you ever find yourself in Paris, walking past a dimly lit door with no sign, and you hear laughter - real, raw, unfiltered laughter - don’t walk past it. Knock. You might just find the only platform that matters.
There’s a story about a woman who came to one of their shows wearing a business suit and heels that didn’t match. She didn’t speak. She just sat in the back. At the end, she stood up, took off her jacket, and handed it to someone in the front. ‘I used to wear this to feel safe,’ she said. ‘Now I wear these to feel alive.’ She left without saying her name. But the heels? She left those behind. They’re still there. On the floor. Next to the mic.
That’s the thing about Squiggles and Sluts. They don’t leave you with answers. They leave you with questions. And sometimes, that’s all you need.
escrot paris
mescort
