Stripper paints a neon-lit panorama of Achille Lauro’s restless heart, where gender roles melt like ice in a freezer and every pop-culture shout-out—Britney, Madonna, Like a Virgin, London Calling—is a flashy sequin on his rhinestone jacket; the narrator slips between masculine and feminine voices, flaunts the skirt più corta and a cowboy hat, and proclaims that nobody has the right to judge, because beneath the glitz all I need is love: it is a hymn to radical self-expression, sexual fluidity, and the reckless thrill of living on your own terms, turning the figure of the stripper into a symbol of unapologetic freedom, daring us to follow him out of our comfort zones and straight onto the blistering dance floor of self-acceptance.