I gripped the stripper pole and tried to strike a balance between old-fashioned glamour and new-age seduction.

There was just one problem. I wasn’t wearing makeup.

The photographer didn’t mind. When I picked up the final product, I learned they’d framed the biggest oddity of the bunch: the snapshot where I attempted a mysterious gaze instead of a smile.

I wasn’t sure if the photo belonged on my mantle or in my trash can.

Unable to resolve the dichotomy between my bright heels and pale skin, I sought comfort in a simple belief.

This was not the real me.

I spent five days vacationing in Las Vegas last week. I don’t gamble, so I filled my time with shopping, eating and a Stripper 101 class.

Somehow, the course wasn’t included in the basic requirements for my English major.

So I made up for lost time by joining a roomful of women for some harmless (fully-clothed) fun, complete with an individual souvenir photo!

Cue the debates over whether my registration fee furthered female empowerment or female degradation.

At the very least, I can say I finally experienced Vegas’ true essence.

I love the city -- not so much for its emphasis on excess and opulence, but rather for the widespread ability to disguise those elements.

Sure, its upscale restaurants and high-end boutiques carry obvious price tags. Visitors flaunt everything from designer brands to worn-out sweatsuits, however.

And just when you’re convinced the guy in the flannel shirt and torn jeans is visiting the Bellagio just for kicks, he buys a $1,000 bottle of alcohol.

Is he a millionaire in disguise? A mid-income earner who has saved up for this trip for decades? A guy from small town America who doesn’t understand the severity of his credit card debt?

Go ahead and guess, but you’ll likely never know the truth.

Amid its vices, Vegas also manages to instill in its guests a reluctance to judge their vacationing counterparts.

Awkward gaze and all, my souvenir photo still sits in my suitcase.

Like the millionaire in disguise, the image does little to clarify if I enrolled for column research, genuine recreation or a little bit of both.

It might not be the real me, but it’s certainly someone I know.

Sonya Sorich, reporter, can be reached at ssorich@ledger-enquirer.com or 706-571-8516. Visit ledger-enquirer.com/blogs to read her Walk of Shame dating blog.