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Fire Dancers in Thailand's Tourism Industry explores the evolution of fire dancing from informal community jam sessions into the iconic, tourist-oriented performances at beach parties and bars, through a close consideration of the role of affect in the lives of fire dancers in the ever-changing scene. Rather than pursuing the common notion that tourism industries are exploitative enterprises that oppress workers, Tiffany Rae Pollock centers the perspectives of fire artists themselves, who view the industry as simultaneously generative and destructive. Dancers reveal how they employ affect to navigate their lives, art, and labor in this context, showcasing how affect is not only a force that acts on people but also is used and shaped by social actors toward their own ends. Fire Dancers in Thailand's Tourism Industry highlights men as affective laborers, investigating how they manage the eroticization of their identities and the intersections of art and labor in tourist economies. Exploring moments of performance and everyday life, Pollock examines how fire artists reimagine their labor, lives, and communities in Thailand's tourism industry.

Fire Dancers in Thailand's Tourism Industry explores the evolution of fire dancing from informal community jam sessions into the iconic, tourist-oriented performances at beach parties and bars, through a close consideration of the role of affect in the lives of fire dancers in the ever-changing scene. Rather than pursuing the common notion that tourism industries are exploitative enterprises that oppress workers, Tiffany Rae Pollock centers the perspectives of fire artists themselves, who view the industry as simultaneously generative and destructive. Dancers reveal how they employ affect to navigate their lives, art, and labor in this context, showcasing how affect is not only a force that acts on people but also is used and shaped by social actors toward their own ends. Fire Dancers in Thailand's Tourism Industry highlights men as affective laborers, investigating how they manage the eroticization of their identities and the intersections of art and labor in tourist economies. Exploring moments of performance and everyday life, Pollock examines how fire artists reimagine their labor, lives, and communities in Thailand's tourism industry.

I had many philosophical conversations with Som, a fire dancer who grew up in a village in the Northern Thai province of Uttaradit. He often joked with me about how many times I would hear the village-to-beach story of fire dancers as I did my research. He explained early on during fieldwork that “all the people who have this job were sad when they were young,” and this was the case for Som, who was aware of the somewhat unimaginable transformations that can happen through being involved in the tourism industry. He reflected on his younger years spent picking coconuts

I began the long walk around the back of the busy tourist lanes toward Nam’s shop in the Gypsy Village.¹ I was thankful not to have to dodge tourists, carts, and the shouts of people selling diving trips. My pace was slower and calmer as I gazed out at the lush green around me, a stark contrast to the shops, bars, and backpacker dorms that clog up the alleyways behind the overly developed area of Loh Dalum Bay. This was my fourth time on Phi Phi, and I had come to appreciate the ways in which quietness hid in small

As I was practicing and learning with Neo, who danced with Nam on Koh Phi Phi, he started to show me the way he felt my body should move with poi. He picked up my toys and quickly embodied a graceful flow. As his face softened, he presented a slight smile and moved with my poi with incredible grace, interspersing tricks with the slow movement of limbs to accentuate his body. He explained that this was the “girl” style of fire dance, which I embody even though the great majority of my teachers were men. I asked, “Why are there

I got off the bus on the far outskirts of Bangkok in a market in Bang Bua Tong. Pi Neung, one of the original Thai fire dancers and the master teacher of many current Thai fire dancers, arrived in a taxi to bring me back to his home for our interview. He greeted me and, as custom, asked if I would like anything to eat. I kindly declined and let him know that I brought food for us to share. We got in the taxi, and he said almost immediately that the “spirit of juggling” had been lost. When we

It is the period just before sunset when the sky is softly illuminated. There is a glow in the atmosphere that marks the transition between daytime and nighttime economies on the southern tourist islands. The light hangs in the sky as the daytime heat settles, holding on while it gently sweeps away the final tourists who begin to walk back to their accommodations to shower and prepare for the evening. During this short interlude, laborers savor moments sharing food with friends before the intensity of the beach nightlife washes in. As the last slivers of light fall behind the waves,

Author: Why will some Thai fire dancers not work with the Burmese? Nah: It’s a culture thing. From what I know, and I don’t know if it’s true, a long time ago Burma’s king changed, and when they changed their king they had to prove their power by attacking Thailand because Thailand is very healthy with the nature and food and everything. So, we are kind of rich. With the Buddhists it’s the same like Christians—they put all the money inside the temples; in Thailand we put the gold inside the statues and we cover them with clay. And

“Energy” (phalang) was a word I heard often when spending time with fire dancers. How they must give it, feel it, and help others feel it formed the foundation of their skill-building and ethos as performers. Like Nah, who is quoted above, Som explained that as fire dancers, “you make the energy” and that each party has a diff erent feeling one must work with. Nu, who danced with Som for the Full Moon, Half Moon, and Black Moon beach parties on Koh Phangan, similarly discussed this energetic aspect by relating the following about the role of fire dancers: First

Out of all of the dancers I met, Som could perform with the most toys—poi, sticks, rope dart, fans, double staff, fire juggling—and was very skilled at all of them. His set of extensive talents, as he called them, were developed through an insatiable desire to learn and to practice new skills. Som and I were sitting on loungers outside a guesthouse owned by his friend’s mother on Koh Samui’s Chaweng Beach one day when he explained the connection between respect and talent. He elaborated on his skills while pointing toward the large array of his toys—poi,