FROM FEATHERS TO FAKES: THE RISE AND FALL OF THE VEGAS SHOWGIRL
PART 1: When Showgirls Were Vegas (And Vegas Was Dangerous)
The Great Showgirls of Vegas
Before the Influencers and the Instagram Wings, There Were Feathers. Lots of Them.
Showgirls built the fantasy, the glitz, the spectacle, the unapologetic excess that turned a dusty desert town into the entertainment capital of the world.
They weren’t just dancers. They were Vegas. Even today, you still see them at events, in commercials, and on social media. Some argue that the Showgirl is Las Vegas and Sin City, and that may just be true, because the stereotype stands, and why not? It’s not Disney; it doesn’t need to be (although it did try).
It’s the adult playground where you can let loose and be a little different. Now, I’m not talking about going to a Coldplay concert with someone other than your wife; different. Although that probably happens. I mean, where you can be whatever you want to be, and let go. The Showgirl was that vision. The glitz, the glamour, the sexiness of what made, and makes, Las Vegas great.
But now? You’re more likely to see a tired woman in an Amazon feather with electrical tape on her nipples hustling tourists for $20 photos on the Strip.
So what happened?
THE RISE: WHEN SHOWGIRLS RULED THE STRIP
From the 1950s to the early 2000s, Las Vegas showgirls were as iconic as the neon signs. It’s probably the reason I’m a leg guy if I am self-reflecting (yes, my wife is taller than me, no, I am not Tom Cruise short)
They starred in lavish productions like:
Folies Bergère (Tropicana, 1959–2009): The gold standard. If you didn’t see Folies, you might as well have gone to Branson. (yuck)
Jubilee! (Bally’s, 1981–2016): The last of the true spectacles, where dancers risked spinal injuries from headdresses heavier than a Cirque contract.
Lido de Paris, Hallelujah Hollywood, etc.: Because nothing says “America” like topless women in sequins saluting the flag.
These weren’t just shows. They were Broadway-meets-burlesque-meets-mob-money-laundering. And they paid better than your crypto portfolio, 40-foot fountains, and elaborate costumes that could weigh more than the performer wearing them.
The biggest shows had up to 100 dancers, all trained in classical ballet, jazz, and modern choreography. It was a career. A dream. A high-paying one, too.
And it wasn’t just the tourists who noticed…
FIVE SHOWGIRL STORIES THAT WOULD GET YOU BANNED FROM THE MOB MUSEUM
(But we’re running them anyway.)
This wouldn't be Vegas Uncomped if I didn't share some things that you just might not know about the history of Vegas showgirls. I’ve always been fascinated by Vegas history, the showgirls, the mob, their obsession with aliens; hell, my dog is named Bugsy (after one of the biggest mob bosses in Vegas). So here are some stories you might not know, and hopefully enjoy.
The Showgirl Who Stood Between Sammy and the Mob
Las Vegas, 1964. The Copa Room at the Sands was packed beyond fire code when Sammy Davis Jr. missed his second show that week. Officially, he was "indisposed." Backstage, 21-year-old Lola Falana adjusted her headdress with shaking hands - she knew the real reason.
The Chicago Outfit (that means the Mob ya’ll) had made their displeasure clear about Sammy's marriage to May Britt. They frowned on interracial marriages back then. Falana, Sammy's protege and sometimes-lover, had become his early warning system. "They're coming tonight," a dealer whispered, slipping her a note in the girls' dressing room.
What happened next depends on who you ask. Falana's 2005 memoir claims she helped sneak Sammy out through the casino kitchens. Two retired Sands dealers swear he hid in a costume trunk. The FBI file simply notes "subject avoided scheduled contact with known associates."
Sinatra made calls. The heat died down. And Falana? She suddenly landed a European tour - coincidentally timed, she'd later wink, "to let certain people cool off."
The truth, like most Vegas stories, lives somewhere between the official records and the legends whispered in dressing rooms. But this much is certain: that week in 1964, a showgirl's quick thinking may have saved a superstar's life. Can anyone imagine the profound historical shift that would occur if Sammy were to have suddenly vanished, never to be discovered in a barrel dumped into Lake Mead?
The Bomb That Broke the Government’s Brain
The Atomic Energy Commission never saw it coming.
It was 1957, and the Stardust’s PR team had a killer idea: Let’s put a mushroom cloud on a showgirl. Enter Lee Merlin, a blonde bombshell with a grin that could disarm Khrushchev. They strapped her into a silver bikini, crowned her with a 4-foot atomic plume, and snapped the shot. Miss Atomic Bomb was born.
Washington lost its mind.
"You’re making nuclear annihilation look like a goddamn cabaret!" screamed an AEC suit. The Stardust was ordered to add modesty panels to the costume. The real kicker? The original model was supposed to be Anna Mae Clift, a Black dancer who’d done the test shots. But in segregated Vegas, a woman of color couldn’t be Miss Anything. Clift faded into obscurity, while Merlin’s face wound up in Life magazine.
One of my favorite bands (and Vegas’s own) The Killers, wrote a song in 2012 titled Miss Atomic Bomb partly inspired by a 1964 political ad known as "Daisy," which depicted a young girl counting petals on a flower before a nuclear explosion, a real-life individual, and the "Miss Atomic Bomb" beauty pageants.
The final insult? Decades later, Merlin, like so many Nevada Test Site spectators, developed thyroid cancer. The government still denies it was the fallout.
The Jubilee Feather Heist of 1978!
Spring 1978 - The Jubilee! wardrobe department arrived to find their warehouse looking like a ticker-tape parade had exploded in reverse. $12,000 worth of precious ostrich plumes - enough to outfit three showgirl headdresses - had vanished overnight. The lock showed no signs of forced entry, just a single gold sequin glinting mockingly in the morning light.
The timing was suspicious. The Ziegfeld Follies, Jubilee!'s old Broadway rival, happened to be in town. Rumor had it one of their dancers had stormed out of a Jubilee! audition weeks earlier. LVMPD's report noted "possible professional jealousy as motive."
Then came the Frontier incident. Two weeks after the theft, Siegfried & Roy's stage manager reported finding "unexplained feathers" in the big cats' enclosure. The famed illusionists laughed it off - their act already used feather props - but Jubilee!'s costume mistress wasn't amused. She identified bite marks on the recovered plumes matching the warehouse inventory.
No arrests were made. No feathers fully recovered. But for years after, Jubilee! dancers would wink when passing the big cats, whispering that the real magic act had been making $12,000 worth of evidence disappear.
THE SHOWGIRLS HE DIDN’T WANT, BUT COULDN’T KILL
In late 1966, Howard Hughes arrived in Vegas by private train, checked into the Desert Inn’s penthouse… and then refused to leave. Management asked him to vacate for New Year’s high rollers. What did the germaphobic recluse do? He bought the whole damn hotel in March 1967, for $13 million, paying in cash and loans.
And like most billionaires with too much time and not enough serotonin, he started trying to fix it.
His first targets? Neon, booze, and boobs.
Hughes hated gambling, thought alcohol was a societal cancer, and wasn’t exactly a fan of feathered women twirling under spotlights. He once referred to topless revues as “distracting to the business environment.” (Which, in Vegas, is like saying a priest finds the Bible a bit wordy.)
He didn’t kill the showgirl outright. He just corporatized her to death.
Instead of banning the dancers, he slashed production budgets, replaced flashy revues with lounge acts, and stacked management with Mormon executives who treated rhinestones like gateway drugs.
The result? The glitz stayed on stage a little longer, but behind the curtain, the feathers were molting.
While Folies Bergère and Jubilee! survived for decades after, insiders say their glory days started to fade the second Hughes moved in with his germaphobia, censorship memos, and refusal to comp a single damn cocktail.
He may not have canceled the showgirls, but he definitely gave them a curfew.
This is how Vegas gets neutered, and why to this day I blame every stroller I see in Vegas on Hughes.
The Last Stand of the Jubilee! Girls
The final curtain on Jubilee! was supposed to drop quietly. MGM had big plans for the theater, another Cirque spectacle, maybe some pop star’s residency, anything but the neon-soaked nostalgia of showgirls strutting in feathers and rhinestones.
Closing night was February 11, 2016, and the crowd knew they were witnessing the end of an era. But this wasn’t just a show’s last dance. It was a heartbreak soaked in sweat, sequins, and stubborn pride.
As the final notes of “There’s No Business Like Show Business” faded, the dancers didn’t just vanish backstage. They lingered in the spotlight, soaking in the applause and the bittersweet silence that followed decades of glitter and glitz.
No dramatic protests. No staged rebellion. Just a group of performers saying goodbye to the stage that had been their home, their battleground, and their spotlight.
Veteran dancers shared stories of the grueling physical toll, headdresses heavy enough to break a neck, relentless choreography, and the emotional weight of watching their world fade to black.
Where did they go after the feathers and spotlights?
Some joined Cirque du Soleil, swapping sequins for harnesses as they soared 50 feet above the Strip. Others stepped offstage for good, trading the dazzling costumes for quiet lives, one even found sanctuary in faith after thousands of topless performances.
And some? They still gathered. Every Tuesday at a Lounge, sipping vodka cranberries and wearing their makeup like armor, the last living reminders of a Vegas that’s fading but never forgotten.
Oh, and as the story goes, MGM recycled those iconic costumes for Britney Spears’ residency. Somewhere in the stitching, the dancers left behind a little rebellion, lipstick stains that no amount of laundry will ever erase.
Next week in Part 2: Death of the Showgirl, where they are coming back, Rat Pack influence, and more!!