Roni Malka

My stage: the burlesque of confidence

This genre was born on women like me — a historical fact the industry misplaced somewhere along the way. Classic burlesque celebrated curves, slowness and presence, and only later did someone decide there was one correct size for a stage. I put the point back where it belongs: full movement that takes up space, a gaze that does not apologise, and a tempo that hurries nowhere because it has no reason to. A crowd responds immediately — not because it is "different", but because confidence on stage is the most attractive thing there is.

What a show with me looks like

An hour built like a cabaret: a royal entrance in feathers and velvet, a first set that is all tempo and gazes, a centrepiece with a layer game I run very slowly, and a finale where the crown comes off last. I work a lot with humour — a raised eyebrow, one sentence in the right place, a wink that breaks the tension — because confidence and laughter travel together. My crowd does not watch from the side: it is invited in, within the boundaries we closed in advance. The full skeleton of the hour — on the solo page; with me it wears velvet.

Who books me — and why

Three groups, each for its own reason. Men who know what they like — and most of them say they searched for exactly this for years and found nothing. Women arranging it for a partner — who discover the evening is funnier and warmer than anything they imagined. Mixed crews — because my confidence is contagious, and the room loosens up within ten minutes. If you are unsure whether it suits your crowd, write to the team: the answer will be honest, a principle we hold to on the about page.

My characters

The cabaret queen — the crown character: feathers, red velvet, a small crown and a gaze that runs the room; my most photographed entrance. The velvet lady — the intimate edition: a long gown, gloves, and minimal movement that fills an entire space. The diva of the night — a vintage microphone, one song, and a great deal of presence; excellent for birthdays that want a personal moment. The full wardrobe — on the costume page; with me every character is built around presence, not around a prop.

Where I am strongest

Warm home living rooms, small halls, and closed lounges — anywhere with a good armchair and the right light. Geographically I am requested in Ramat Gan and Givatayim and in Holon and Bat Yam, where the family-event crowd loves my genre most. Fortieth and fiftieth birthdays too — a clear home ground: at that age people already know how to enjoy themselves without embarrassment, which is exactly the fuel of my show.

One moment from the field

A forty-fifth birthday in Givatayim, twelve guests, and a man whose wife had booked it as a surprise. As I entered I clearly heard someone at the far end of the room whisper "wow, finally someone real". I did not react — I was working — but at the end of the evening that same man told me he had not known you were allowed to book exactly what you like. I told him what I always tell people: you are allowed. That is the whole principle of this catalogue, and it is why I am in it.

How I prepare

Velvet demands care — a brush, a steam iron, and zero creases; the feathers are shaken out before every show. The hair takes forty minutes of heavy waves, and the make-up is classic: a soft eye and red lips that do not move for a whole hour. I bring my own chair when needed — yes, I own one, stable and armless, because my centrepiece is built on it. And at your place I ask one thing: an armchair or sofa that can be moved, and a metre and a half of clear floor in front of it.

My playlist

Heavy soul, electric blues, jazz with horns, and a little modern downtempo for the slow pieces. I work at a deliberately low tempo — my genre profits from every extra second. Does the guest of honour love a particular slow song? Send it ahead and I weave it into the centrepiece; and if you want something Israeli from those years, I keep a whole shelf that works beautifully on a forty-plus crowd.

Who I am not the right choice for

Parties with high tempo, drops and a jumping crowd — not my arena; the catalogue holds energies born for exactly that, and I will gladly point you there. Whoever is looking for acrobatics and pole figures will get something else entirely from me: I work on the floor, on a chair and inside the room, not at height. But if you want a warm, funny evening full of presence — and above all a real one — you have arrived at exactly the right profile.

Five small facts about me

My crown weighs almost nothing and cost more than the gown — and I have no regrets. I learned burlesque from old cabaret footage, and my closing bow came from there too. I collect long gloves in every colour that exists, and I own one pink pair that comes out only for birthdays. Before a show I sing loudly in the car, and that is what walks me into character. And the sentence I most love hearing at the end of an evening is not "wow" but "I did not know it could be like this".

An evening with me — step by step

18:30 — velvet, brush, steam iron. 19:30 — heavy waves in the hair, forty minutes. 21:00 — departure, singing on the way. 21:45 — "I am here", a quiet plain-clothes entrance, a change in the room. 22:00 — the crown goes on, and the door opens. An hour of cabaret: tempo, humour, the chair piece, and a finale where the crown comes off last. 23:05 — a warm goodbye, and you are left with a laughing room. That is how it ends with me, almost every time.