Frida Kahlo. Girl with Death Mask (She Plays Alone).
grandma, batman, gaydar, martyr, angry, drama, radar, tangy, army, brat, damn, drag, maar, mar
I suspect it’s difficult for men to imagine a world in which their bodies have long been inextricably linked to their value as an individual, and that no matter how encouraging your parents were or how many positive female role models you had or how self-confident you feel, there is an ever-present pressure that creeps in from all sides, whispering in your ear that you are your body and your body defines you. A world where, from the time of pubescence on, you can feel the constant and palpable weight of the male gaze, and not just from your male peers but from teachers and sports coaches and the fathers of the children you baby-sit, people you’re supposed to respect and trust and look up to, and that first realization that you are being looked at in that way is the beginning of a self-consciousness that you will be unable to shake for the rest of your life. Even if they are never verbalized, the rules of bodily conduct for females become clear early on: when school administrators reprimand you for the inch of midriff that shows when you lift your hands straight in the air or youth group leaders tell you that the sight of your unintentional cleavage is what causes godly young men to fall, you learn that your body is dangerous and shameful and that it’s your responsibility to cloister it in a way that is acceptable to everyone else. You learn that your body is a topic of public debate that everyone is entitled to weigh in on, from a male classmate telling you that those jeans make your ass look huge to the male-dominated United States Congress dictating the parameters that rape must fall within to be considered legitimate. To be a woman, and to live life in a woman’s body, is to be held to a set of comically paradoxical standards that make you constantly second-guess yourself and jump through a million hoops in pursuit of an impossible perfection.
It’s a terrible thing, I think, in life to wait until you’re ready. I have this feeling now that actually no one is ever ready to do anything. There is almost no such thing as ready. There is only now. And you may as well do it now. Generally speaking, now is as good a time as any.
photos by Michael Guardiola
Thank you Zinefeast exhibitors. I am thrilled by the response Zinfeast has gotten. Its aim was to benefit the school and have our school benefit the visiting artists, and I think we accomplished that.
where can I find that red and black print in the second picture?
This weekend I:
- did a food drive in capitol hill and debated with a young man who thinks HIV isn’t real
- went to the pier at south lake union to look for my favorite earring (no luck), hung out at gas works, and got some oysters and chips from ivar’s
- sewed some cat patches on my backpack at magnuson park and came home with a terrible sunburn
- walked around the zoo, canoodled a bit in volunteer park, and went to three different gay bars to watch jinkx monsoon make seattle proud
One failed attempt at a shoe bomb and we all have to take off our shoes at the airport. Thirty one school shootings since Columbine and no change in the regulation of guns.
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