Contrary to what the title of this post may lead you to believe, the following words are (unfortunately) not about menstruation, but rather just some thoughts on what it is to be a lady person in the West in 2016. In this year, 2016, I have been propositioned, routinely objectified, sexualised, infantilised, ignored, and a handful of other words that made me feel less like a human person and more like a sex doll, and it's only April second. As a nude model, it is my job to take off my kit in the interest of making art. It is not my job to explain to potential employers the difference between a figure model and a prostitute, which is exactly what I had to do recently. The offensive part of this is not that someone would suggest that I'm willing to "have some fun" for money (yes, he actually wrote that in an email to me) - I don't think there's anything wrong with prostitution. However, the simple fact that a man would assume that because I take my clothes off for money means I could just pop over the line to blow him exemplifies the massive problem of conflation of nudity and eroticism. However, it is hardly surprising when the only times we get to see a lady nipple in this country is in porn, Game of Thrones, and American Apparel ads. One of my favourite things about being in Europe the first time I went was the omnipresence of nudes - seeing women whose tummies looked like mine and whose breasts were just hanging out as if they were made to feed the young rather than be ejaculated on was kind of mind-blowing for early-teens Indie. The saddest part of all this is that, after centuries of women in the West being pushed to conform to a delicate and demure persona, I now feel pressure to swing to the other end of the spectrum simply in order to be seen as human. Every day I try to figure out the balance of a Julie Andrews hair cut, Maggie Thatcher voice, and my Granny's intellect without losing the freedom to giggle and skip if I so choose.
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One of the things that I love about January first is how we all come together and celebrate the fact that a year is beginning. I feel like a lot of the time, it is all too easy to forget that time and existence are incredibly exciting things to be enjoyed and celebrated. At the beginning of the year, however, we all get together, friends and strangers alike, and remember that being alive is pretty great. Hiking an extraordinarily icy trail in Washington, the small head-nods and "Happy New Years" from the groups we passed served as the cigars an overwhelmed but joyful father might pass out in welcoming a child to the world. Instead, we welcome another three hundred and sixty-five days of small moments of beauty, stress, taking for granted things that we shouldn't, friends who infuriate and challenge us, cuddles, and loneliness, each one an opportunity to fall in love with the world around us and getting to be a part of it. |
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