bodies

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The Substance, Horror, and Ugliness Politics

Illustration by me of a vial of “Activator” from the film The Substance with small green hand prints.

The Substance is easily my favorite horror film to come out this year, and probably my favorite film regardless of genre to come out of 2024. It executes common horror tropes beautifully while offering a combination of fresh new ideas that haven’t felt explored in the specific way Coralie Fargeat, the director, addresses them. The film’s plot and general message are also incredibly relevant to politics of Desire and how physical attractiveness is measured among different groups of people.

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Move Me, Move You

Photo by Luis Gallegos Alvarez on Pexels.com

The universe moves me so I can move others. 

Growing up, my parents put me in every sport imaginable. If my school provided it, I did it. Baseball, basketball, soccer, you name it. And I HATED IT. Running back and forth on the field/court, winning, losing—it all sucked. But there was one sport (yes, it’s a sport. Fight me.) that I actually looked forward to every week, and that was dance. I’ve been dancing since 2 years old. My mom put me in ballet just like every other little girl, and when I tell you I absolutely LIT UP on stage. There are videos of me as a toddler convincing my classmates with stage fright to get on stage and perform. After ballet, I did Irish dance for 7 years. Not my favorite (it was too stiff and strict for me) but I stuck with it so I could take what I learned from class and teach it to my friends at school. At the same time, I did hip hop for 5 years, and that’s where I really started to come to life. I had the most attitude of any 3rd grader on that stage. It inspired me to start choreographing my own dances for me and a couple of my dancer friends to perform and film as part of our own little variety show. Then came tap and jazz class, then musical theater. My love of dance continued through middle school and high school, where I began choreographing for my schools’ musicals. Even in college, I still go back to my middle school to teach kids the dances for their school productions. Every car ride is spent looking out the window, choreographing new dances in my mind. It is a core part of my being. And every step I have taken in my dance journey came with bringing others the joy of dance. It has taken me years to recognize that I was meant to help others move. I live to light up on stage and allow others to do the same. Watching their faces when they finally get a step right that they have been struggling with. Seeing them get excited when they come up with their own choreography and run up to me to show off their new dance. Hearing them telling their parents that their favorite part of rehearsal was dance class. It all makes me feel like I have a place in the world. As Kimerer Lamothe said, “Every movement a human makes animate potentials that them become who that human is—one who made that movement. One who can make that movement again” (Lamothe 127). I was given movement from my teachers from my childhood, and I became the teacher for my friends and students, and they will become teachers for their circle, and on and on. Dance is who I am. It always will be, even if I don’t dance every day anymore. I will never separate that part of me. And that is what I believe I was put on this planet to do. Move others.

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Piercings

When I was eight, the first piercing into my body was for a ritual, a gentle whisper of tradition inscribed on the skin. Or maybe these were the things little girls did, bearing a tiny badge of belonging. I didn’t question it, didn’t need to. It fell into the soft quilt of childhood.

At twenty, a sharper needle danced across my skin: a second lobe, a nose ring, a tragus. These weren’t whispered rites; they were restless proclamations. Boredom had seeped into my bones, and the sting of metal felt like a remedy, a spark against the dull ache of routine.

But the tragus rebelled, itching, and inflamed, and was eventually lost, snagged in the tangle of intimacy during a hug. A small casualty, nonetheless one that left its mark within memory memory of touch and unintentional loss.

Now, they hang silent companions. Some days, they feel like artifacts of whimsy I can’t quite justify. On other days, they’re ornaments of a self I’ve grown to understand. Mistakes? Maybe. Or maybe they are just chapters, stitched in by silver and steel, each adding texture to the story I wear.

The Alchemist’s Anger
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The Alchemist’s Anger

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The Rebis

Alchemical perfection — An Alchemist’s Magnum Opus

After one has gone through the stages of putrefaction and purification, separating opposing qualities, those qualities are united once more in what is sometimes described as the divine hermaphrodite, a reconciliation of spirit and matter, a being of both male and female qualities as indicated by the male and female head within a single body. The sun and moon correspond to the male and female halves, just as the Red King and White Queen are similarly associated.

Upon reading Susan Stryker’s “My Words to Victor Frankenstein” I reached enlightenment. She blessed me with an epiphany that had evaded the capability of language.

She starts by breaking down the monstrosity of the transsexual in extremely profound ways. “The transsexual body is an unnatural body,” she says, “…It is flesh torn apart and sewn together again in a shape other than which it was born.” I have been hyper-fixated on this concept since discovering my own transsexuality and I could not agree more. But much like transgender is to transsexual, why not push the boundary further? Why be unnatural when you can be supernatural? Preternatural? Extraordinary? To augment oneself to perfection. To reach a level of divinity only capable through self-made creation. This is where my love for the alchemist began. 

As transsexuals do we not toe the line between scientists and sorcerers, ever in pursuit of physical perfection? To transform one substance into another? Matter cannot be created nor destroyed but it can be transmuted. We become monsters, or in Stryker’s explanation, heralds of our own extraordinary creation.

While carving, sewing, and transforming your body is perhaps the closest to divinity I can imagine, there is always the scrutinizing eye of the world upon you. In embodying what lies beyond the realm of normalcy comes the onlookers probing for answers. To be transsexual is to be spectacle – for better or for worse. You walk through the world always on display, always looked at but never seen; this is visibility versus legibility. In the space between the two, I find my transgender rage. Always listened to, but never heard. Always known, but never understood. In this violence, I find my transsexual body an abject one constrained by the world’s subjectivity and “…limited by its signification.”

I could spend forever talking about what enrages me about my own transsexual embodiment, but I’d like to end on a positive note. I am a monster in all aspects and retellings of the word. But I am a monster of my own creation. In some strange way, I am both Frankenstein and his monster. Creator and created. Alchemist and Rebis. And I will continue to create. 

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The Privatization of Dance: Examining the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders

As we discussed sporting bodies, there is an overarching understanding of how factors like race and gender prescribe certain bodies to sports, in which industries and society deem who can and can’t participate. With this, something that continued to infiltrate my mind was the occurrence of the privatization of sports. This can be attributed to the dance industry, which determines who can and can’t participate through various factors such as race, class, sexuality, and gender. A noteworthy example of this could be considered within the Netflix docuseries, “America’s Sweethearts,” about the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders, which displays how dance is privatized and systemically pushes certain people out while keeping others in. 

In my experience as a competitive dancer, the aspect of having money is one of the largest barriers to becoming a successful dancer. You have to be able to afford the costumes, the shoes, the uniforms, the makeup, and the classes. And if you want to get ahead, you have to be able to afford the private classes and the fees that come along with being on the competitive dance team. Consequently, the dance world is not the most diverse, and there is still a severe lack of effort in considering dancers who don’t fit the mold of able-bodied, white, thin, and wealthy. 

You even see it in “traditional” dance attire. You know those pink tights and pointe shoes that everyone correlates with ballet, even sometimes referencing the color as “ballet pink?” That color is intended to match a dancer’s skin tone, to make their legs appear longer on stage. The problem with this, however, is that not everyone has a pale skin tone. This alone is enough to understand why dance is so privatized—to keep certain people in and certain people out. 

Throughout the Netflix show, the viewers see how these women are expected to be classically trained to a high standard, have the most expensive costumes, have all the necessary equipment to upkeep their hair and makeup, and maintain particularly expensive diets, all for the sake of the chance of auditioning to make the team. Here, it becomes clear that there is an obvious class barrier to getting on the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders, as all the mentioned aspects cost extensive amounts of money. Of course, this is only further complicated when we think about who is barred from gaining access to wealth. Additionally, the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, in adhering to Eurocentric beauty standards, tend to prioritize thin-white women to upkeep their identity as “America’s Sweethearts.”

Thus, I find that the Netflix series about the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders provides a prime example of how dance is privatized. While you might not see it from outside of the dance world, the show gives some insight into how the dance industry has become dominated by wealthy white people. Ultimately, as made clear by this series and the industry as a whole, dance is privatized to avoid being accessible; only certain types of bodies are welcome, and only certain bodies can be seen as “professional” dancers.

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an open letter to my reflection

To my reflection,

Our relationship has been rocky for the past 22 years, to say the least. Some days, I see you and I smile. I stop and admire the little things about you. Sometimes that admiration stays, feeling like how a breeze feels on a warm summer day. Sometimes is not all the time. Most days, I see you and I want to cry. The little things I once admired have since disappeared, and the comforting breeze on that warm sunny day has turned into the searing gusts that cut my skin and leave me raw. These days are much more frequent. More often than not, when I pass you as I leave for the day, making eye contact with you is impossible. I avert my eyes to avoid the death by a thousand cuts that I know will ensue if I stay with you for too long.

I don’t know what its like to be comfortable with you. To be happy with you. To be secure with you. You have caused me endless tears, endless confusion, endless dread. What is it like to look in the mirror and feel completely and fully affirmed by you? Has anyone ever felt that? Or am I chasing a mirage, a confidence that will never truly be achieved by someone with a human brain and human body?

I hope that one day you and I will make amends. Maybe one day the gusts will turn into breezes, and my cuts will heal.

Until then,

S.

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Why won’t you go to the pool with me?

I was 14 when people first commented on my chest. 

“Woah, I never noticed before, but you have big boobs!”

”Thanks?” I responded.

I was wearing a gray shirt that my mom bought me. I really liked the shirt, but its soft material happened to outline my chest. 

I was 15 when I first noticed boys looking at my boobs. They couldn’t see anything behind the fabric that covered them, but their eyes would always be below my eye line. 

I was 17 when I first decided I no longer wanted my boobs. 

Do I get top surgery? No, that was too extreme for a girl. 

Do I get a reduction? No, because what if I eventually want top surgery. 

If I ever decided on a surgery, how would I pay for it?

I was 18 when I stopped wearing regular bras and switched exclusively to sports bras.

I was 19 when I switched to ‘compression tops’. 

My chest has become a constant source of dysphoria that I’d like to disappear. 

As I continue through life and gain a bit of weight, my compression tops become tighter and tighter. 

When will it end?

When can I come to terms with my identity?

You won’t see me at the pool because ‘I’m not feeling well’ or ‘I have a bad sunburn.’

But really, it’s because of my insecurities and gender dysphoria. 

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The Potential of Body Neutrality

Recently, I was listening to an episode of a podcast I regularly listen to. Within the first few minutes of the podcast, one of the hosts brings up the discussion about how the internet constantly perceives and talks about her body regardless of what it looks like. The host mentions that, as she has recently lost weight, people feel the need to say more with comments such as “you look so much happier” or “you look so healthy.” Yet, when she lived her life in a bigger body, she constantly got backhanded comments such as “you’re so brave.” Interestingly, her content has nothing to do with her body or her self-image. Therefore, in sharing this, she points out that no matter what her body looks like or how many boundaries she attempts to make, people will always feel as though they have the right to discuss and judge her body and not who she is as a person, especially with holding a presence on social media.

This reminded me of what we have discussed in class regarding how society prioritizes weight and what bodies look like. In our everyday lives, there is constant expectation of what our bodies are “supposed to be,” what type of body is deemed “healthy” or not, and what bodies are “moral” or “immoral.” Especially with social media, people’s bodies are only placed on a pedestal where hundreds and thousands of people look, judge, and comment. Over time, it becomes distressing because it can be extremely dehumanizing to constantly be aware of others’ entitlement to comment on your body and interpret it, whether those remarks are positive or negative. In this sense, as society focuses on weight and the body, you are left to feel as though you are no longer human with a personality, character, or morals, but rather just a body defined by weight.

With this, I can’t help but wonder: How can we change these expectations and concepts that invade how we view and think about weight and bodies?

I think of the body-neutrality movement that we touched upon in class discussions. Body neutrality embraces the practice of simply accepting your body for what it is rather than constantly trying to have a positive or loving mindset. There is no positivity or negativity tied to bodies, but rather just an acknowledgement of their existence as they are. I find that this has the potential to make a change in how the world views and thinks about bodies and weight, as recognizing and accepting bodies as they are disadvantages ideas of “good” and “bad.” While this cannot be done overnight, there needs to be a change in how we think about weight. Ultimately, there could be a great benefit in embracing movement such as body neutrality and understanding and accepting weight and bodies as they are, rather than attatching them to notions of positivity or negativity. 

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Work and Worth: A Journey

As a college student, I’m constantly juggling classes, assignments, and part-time jobs, and I often feel like I’m being pulled in a million directions. It’s exhausting, and I sometimes find it hard to keep up with everything. Beyond my studies, I want to be there for my friends and family, but it often feels like I’m barely keeping my head above water. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how work and health are connected, especially as I prepare to step into the workforce. The transition to independence is daunting, and one of the biggest challenges I face is figuring out how to take care of myself amid all the chaos. Unfortunately, essential topics like nutrition, stress management, and work-life balance are rarely taught, leaving me to navigate them on my own.Reflecting on the history of labor in the United States, I realize that the fight for workers rights has been long and difficult. Over the years, labor movements have battled for fair wages, reasonable hours, and safer working conditions, paving the way for healthier workplaces today. But after reading “Made by the Work: A Century of Laboring Bodies in the United States” by Ed Slavishak, my perspective on the human cost of labor has shifted profoundly. Slavishak dives deep into the harrowing experiences of early 20th-century workers. It’s hard to fathom that laborers in steel mills and coal mines faced daily dangers and grueling conditions, with their bodies treated like mere tools for productivity. One statistic that struck me was that over 25,000 workers died every year from workplace accidents. That number is staggering and heartbreaking. It hits close to home for me because it makes me think about how easy it is to overlook the sacrifices of those who came before us, who were seen as expendable and pushed to their physical limits until they broke.

Sitting in my cozy dorm room, surrounded by textbooks and my laptop, I feel a mix of privilege and guilt. I belong to a generation that, for the most part, doesn’t have to face such dire conditions. It’s easy to take that for granted, especially when I’m so consumed with my own struggles. While my working environment is much safer, I can’t help but feel frustrated by how companies historically handled safety or neglected it entirely. They placed the burden of safety on workers, insisting that “the best safety device was a careful worker” (p. 152). That mindset is infuriating because it shifts the blame onto the very people who had little control over their situations.As Slavishak points out, corporate safety campaigns “shifted responsibility to avoid the costs of updating machinery or improving ventilation” (p. 152). This is maddening. It reminds me of the pressures I face in college. I often feel that I’m expected to power through exhaustion or even illness just to meet deadlines. I think about how many workers today might still feel that same pressure to sacrifice their well-being for the sake of productivity.Learning about unions and workers’ compensation laws has given me a profound respect for those who fought for workers’ rights. They understood that workers deserved to be valued for more than just their output, advocating for crucial things like life insurance and compensation for injuries. Slavishak notes how the insurance department of the Amalgamated Association of Iron, Steel, and Tin Workers directly asked its members, “What are your chances of living twenty more years? Can you afford to tempt fate?” (p. 153). That question resonates with me. It makes me think about the importance of community and looking out for one another in college. We’re not just isolated individuals scrambling to succeed; we’re part of a network that can uplift and advocate for one another. As I navigate my college journey and prepare for the future, I’m reminded that the fight for dignity in the workplace is far from over. It’s not just about securing a job; it’s about creating a work culture that values us as whole people, not just for our productivity. Reflecting on the struggles of past workers fills me with a sense of responsibility to carry their lessons into my own life. Balancing everything can feel overwhelming at times, but I know that by supporting each other, we can work toward a future where every worker is treated with respect not just for their labor, but for their humanity.

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The Body at Work

“That the body plays a central role in work is perhaps an obvious statement, yet it is easy to lose sight of human labor in a capitalist system centered on service, global outsourcing, and automated assembly…laboring bodies experience ailments and annoyances that are often hidden because they are experienced in isolation” – Ed Slavishak

When the worker is asked
To complete the task,
The body slaves away
For a measly pay.

In the big blue store
With the bright blue vests,
17 year old
Ken Kaneki rests.

School then work,
Day and night,
Week after week,
He does everything “right”.

He’s the star employee,
The best on the team,
But what does that
Truly mean?

His feet are aching,
He can barely walk,
But yet to every customer
He must talk.

Work through the pain,
Keep up your pace,
And never ever
Let your smile leave your face.

7 miles a day,
He walks across the store.
Pulling carts, stocking cases,
And watching the door.

Up on the ladders,
With boxes half his size,
His balance unsteady,
And dust in his eyes.

Down on the floor scrubbing,
He’s on his knees.
His body is screaming
“Help me please!!”

Work through the pain,
Keep up your pace,
And never ever
Let your smile leave your face.

Now in the present,
His joints are weak.
And every now and then,
The future looks pretty bleak.

Countless hours spent
To prove your worth,
But where’s that “family” now,
When you are hurt?

You are replaceable
Like a cog in a machine,
And in the end,
Your efforts were unseen.

4 years in a place
That worked him to death
And now his sanity
Is all he has left.

With the job of 6
And the pay of 1,
After 4 years
He’s glad to be done.

But when he looks down
At his physical form,
He can plainly see
That it is worn.

His body shows signs
Of labor intensive times,
And he bears the scars of physical labor.

Now that he’s free,
He can clearly see
That the odds were never in his favor.

He must push on
In his tired state,
He must succeed
Before it’s “too late”.