Cami Arboles, Devon Cherry and Mackenzie Palmer pole dance in L.A.

Pole dancing has always been an art form to those who practice it. It’s a physical feat, a spiritual ritual, a display of athleticism. In India, Mallakhamb — which translates to “wrestler’s pole” — emerged around the 12th century as a sport combining yoga, wrestling and aerial acrobatics. Around the same time, in China, dancers performed on multiple poles, sometimes spaced as far as 20 feet apart, challenging them to still show up with grace. When you think of pole dancing, you might think of go-go dancers in the ‘60s in smoky, midcentury, neon-lighted clubs, leaning, spinning and seducing. You might think of strip clubs, where the pole is a stage, where dancers blend sensuality with sheer physical skill.

In recent years, the internet has brought the public into the practice rooms of both novices and professionals, pushing pole dancing into the mainstream. Competitions take place. Pole-specific fitness studios have grown in numbers and locations. Sex workers and advocates have built a language for how pole dancing should be spoken about and honored. In the studio, on the stage or at the strip club, this is where you can come bare and stay bare and explore the parts of your story you feel constricted by.

From left to right: Devon Cherry, Cami Árboles and Mackenzie Palmer

For Cami Árboles, Mackenzie Palmer and Devon Cherry, the pole is a portal for anyone curious enough to step into it. The women make up a trio of aerial artists who often collaborate together, yet not under one name. Their story is right place, right time, right collaborative spirit — but also the right climate, one rooted in building community in Los Angeles.

I first met Árboles and Palmer on a pitch-black fall night in Silver Lake, at Shiloh iii’s late-night teahouse when it was still held in the patio of her home. The evening had been slow and soothing, spent in conversation with friends, until we were invited upstairs to what felt like a secret gathering — something that just so happened to be unfolding among Shiloh’s close-knit circle. Up a set of winding stairs, we walked into a dark room, scattered with warm, low lighting. A DJ controller was being set up, the air shifting into something expectant.

Palmer, left, and Árboles.

In 2020, Árboles started the Mind Body Spirit Collective, a community built around pole dancing, yoga, meditation and somatic healing. As a Yale graduate with no immediate job prospects, she created a new kind of normal at home out of necessity, practicing on the pole and, in turn, building a global network of women who wanted to learn alongside her, including Cherry and Palmer.

A dancer and choreographer born in Los Angeles, Cherry (who often goes by Eb Eb, a childhood nickname) travels the world to teach and has worked with artists such as FKA Twigs. Having recently recovered from a broken leg, Palmer is returning to her aerial practice with a rejuvenated spirit — and the cleansing of an ego death. Movement has always been part of her life, and she’s taken the stage with Alicia Keys. Cherry and Palmer have toured with Lana Del Rey and performed with Partynextdoor, Gunna and Karol G.

At the top of this year, I found myself back at Tea at Shiloh, this time in the downtown space, to watch the trio perform for this shoot. “Regenerative inspiration is one of the most powerful things I’ve found amongst my friends — the amplification of each other,” Shiloh muses. “You can enjoy tea and also be a baddie. You can love soft moments and also get down on a pole.”

With the pole set up in the middle of the room, snug, cream seat pillows surrounding them, Árboles, Palmer and Cherry moved as if they were one. But not in unison, not in strict synchronization. Instead, they created harmony. Their movements expanded and contracted. At times slow and contained, at others sweeping and vast. They melded into each other, their strengths coexisting. It was their collaboration that sharpened each woman’s individual style, drawing out their differences while weaving in shared throughlines.

Here, we dive into their distinct styles while talking about what it means to keep pole dancing rooted in its history while evolving as an art — no matter where, or by whom, it is witnessed.

Mackenzie Palmer: I started in January 2019. It was a New Year’s resolution, trying something new. I was there the whole year, and then, of course, in 2020, COVID hit. [Cami] was the last person I met before lockdown.

Mackenzie wears stylist’s own body suit, Malakai earring.

Darian Symoné Harvin: What was that connection like?

MP: I remember everything. I was working the desk [at the dance studio BeSpun], and part of the job was filming videos to post on Instagram. I was recording a beginner class, but they were killing it. The toe points were crazy. I kept looking for people to film, and I just kept recording Cami. She had such a beautiful, long extension. Eventually, I went up to her and said, “I’m gonna post you.”

Cami Árboles: I was so honored.

MP: And then the next week, COVID shut everything down. I didn’t see her for a while, but because I had added her on Instagram, I saw that she had bought a portable pole and set it up at the beach. The very first time, we were at Venice Beach. And that was the rest of the spring, summer and fall of 2020. We would just set up the pole at the beach and dance. It was the inception.

Cami (left) wears Dion Lee top, Vex Clothing stocking, Oséree bottoms. Mackenzie (right) wears Vex Clothing gloves, Fait Par Foutch bralette, American Apparel rose panties.

DSH: Pole dancing on the beach, dealing with all the extra factors that come with it — like being outside of a studio, the sand, people coming up to you — did it feel more like an open stage where you were performing?

MP: I kind of loved it. It felt like performing, but it also felt collaborative. It was playful. We were playing with each other, and other girls would come up and be like, “Wait, how do we get into this?” It was how we were making friends and having conversations. You either had a pole in your house or you put it outside because every studio was closed.

CA: I was so broke when I bought that stage pole. I think I had $800 in my checking account, and I spent it on the pole.

I would take the pole to Venice Beach in the daytime, then rent it out to a warehouse at night. The poles started paying for themselves. I guess I had a little vision I didn’t even realize I had. There was a shortage of stage poles from the manufacturer, so if you had one, it was in high demand.

DSH: What about you, Eb? When did pole dancing really become part of you?

Devon Cherry: I was experiencing my first really big heartbreak, one of those relationships that was so draining, making me second-guess myself to the point where I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I decided to try something new.

What planted the seed was seeing two dancers on Instagram, Sammy Picone and Jamilah of Neyon Tree. They looked so free in their space, just setting up their pole and dancing in their living room. That’s what first made me aware of pole dancing.

Devon wears Elena Velez dress.

DSH: Do you think there was a sense of accountability in growing together? Did working together naturally build something, or was it more intentional?

MP: The first time all three of us met — Cami, I think you just called me and said, “I’m meeting with Eb tomorrow, you should come.”

DC: After that meeting, everything just worked so well. Our energies, the way we see movement and how we want to present as artists — it all aligned.

The trust is so unspoken. Even though we’re all very different in our styles and personalities, the energy between us just makes it work. It’s so easy to say, “Let’s just do it,” without hesitation, without excuses. It’s amazing to be in an environment where everyone’s ideas are valid. There’s never a moment of doubt or resistance.

MP: If I’m hanging upside down, holding two full-grown adults’ body weight off of me, I have to trust that [Eb and Cami] know how to position their bodies the right way. I also have to trust that they trust me — to check in with how I’m feeling, to communicate if I’m slipping, to let them know when I’m tired so I don’t get injured. There are so many layers of trust, communication and awareness.

Then there’s embracing physical pain, embracing things that feel hard. Pole teaches you that in a very literal way but also in a mental way.

I also feel like those are traits we already have as women, but they’re often associated with masculinity — like toughness, endurance and resilience. We can do hard things. Some of these emotions and experiences keep us in constant balance between feminine and masculine energy.

DSH: That brings up the question of style. Mackenzie, how would you describe Eb’s style?

MP: [Eb] is so strong in the softest way. And I think that can best be described as full control of her body. That’s the level you want to get to.

CA: Mackenzie’s style is fearless. She has so many moves in her Rolodex that are impossible for me to even grasp, but she doesn’t even think about it — she just goes for it. That’s also emblematic of her personality.

MP: Cami is an enigma. She wants everyone to do well, live their truth, feel good and be their best selves. But then there’s the next layer — Cami as a curator, not just of aesthetics but of ideas, thought pieces and dissertations on everything you can think of.

CA: I was just watching an interview with FKA Twigs, and she was talking about “Eusexua” — how it’s her album title but also a way of life, a movement practice and a sensation. You see it manifest in so many ways. I thought that was so cool, because I think, subconsciously, we all do that. I really believe the words you say about yourself and others become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

My background was never in dance; it was in music and classical music. When I think about the energy I want to channel on the pole, a lot of the references I subconsciously pull from are musical. I think about melodic lines that are sweeping, vast and gentle.

My training as a vocalist taught me to connect with my body because, as a singer, your body is your instrument. You’re taught to look at notes on a page and fill them in your unique way. I think I subconsciously view my movement the same way.

DSH: You just helped me articulate something I’ve been thinking about — how the pole itself functions as an element within what you all are doing. It’s the platform, but it’s not the singular thing.

CA: It’s a portal. Even hearing you all speak about your own reasons for coming to it, it’s a portal to transmute heartbreak, shame around showing your body, or even to access creativity and give yourself permission to say, “Oh, I am creative.”

It’s a portal to self-authorization. To becoming a version of yourself you might not have realized you could be. Talents and skills are like that.

In Pokémon, you use an evolutionary stone to level up, right? I think, as humans, learning new skills or developing talents is like that. Pole was that stone for us. We rubbed it on ourselves and evolved into Eb 2.0, Cami 2.0. It’s an evolution.

MP: We do see pole as an evolution, but we also talk all the time about honoring where it comes from. The pole community in general is really big on that. It came from club culture and strippers. I’ve never stripped, but some people are afraid of pole evolving. Everything evolves.

I don’t know if you all would agree, but for me, I love the direction we’re taking it. I feel like we’re discovering something new with it, and that’s OK, right?

CA: The three of us talk about it all the time, and so does the larger community.

It’s not fair that stripping is seen so negatively. That’s really the conversation. People see it as degrading, but then turn around and say, “Oh, but what you all do is beautiful and artistic.” It’s an ongoing conversation, and the key is being open — open to listening to everyone’s stories, experiences and perspectives.

DSH: And not always associating taste with status, right? Some people see stripping as dirty or taboo, while pole dancing in a “contemporary” or “artistic” space is seen as elevated and therefore more valuable.

CA: That point you just brought up — equating taste with value — it’s a reminder that value is relative. To some, we’re still just on a pole, and it doesn’t matter what we’re doing. Our job is to determine our own value while also constantly reminding ourselves that pole dancing is not separate from stripping.

The issue is when people try to separate the two, saying, “I’m a pole dancer, but I’m not a stripper.” That’s actually a harmful statement. It devalues stripping by creating distance from it. The solution is to do the opposite — to acknowledge that these two forms are not separate. The aesthetic of pole dancing, even down to the heels we wear, wouldn’t exist without the strippers and sex workers who pioneered it.

As we see pole pop up more in mainstream culture, we have to recognize its roots. We’re not taking from its history while trying to leave it behind. Things evolve, and evolution doesn’t necessarily mean something is progressing or getting better. It’s just taking a different shape.

DSH: If it wasn’t evolving, it wouldn’t be a conversation. It wouldn’t be touching on deeper points — about womanhood, art, the body. If it didn’t spark these conversations, we wouldn’t all be sitting here right now.

MP: It has such an exciting future because people are starting to see all the ways it can exist. They’re moving beyond the perceived value they’ve been told to associate with it and seeing it for the art form that it truly is.