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Leg Day, Arm Toning, 30 Day Abs Challenge, At Home Glutes Workout…….
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Leg Day, Arm Toning, 30 Day Abs Challenge, At Home Glutes Workout…….

You ever randomly decide at 3 am that you are gonna turn your life around so you decide to spend hours scrolling Pinterest and YouTube, looking for the fastest workouts to give you the best body possible? But you start to notice this weird trend where every workout towards women focuses on one specific part of the body. Becoming a blur of  “Get toned arms in 15 minutes” or “Build the butt of your dreams in 1 Week!” or “Perfectly Sculpted Abs in 30 days.” Instead of focusing on health, it seems like these fitness influencers and apps promote that our body is a collection of broken parts, needing to be fixed. This message is everywhere you look, constantly pointing out the flaws women need to fix.

I only remembered this trend when reading Young’s essay about throwing like a girl. But more specifically, she talks about a phenomenon called “discontinuous unity” that perfectly captures this feeling. Basically, it’s the idea that women are often taught to move their bodies in a disconnected way, not as one fluid, whole unit. Her example is throwing a ball. She points out that a girl often throws using just her arm, while the rest of her body stays pretty still. A boy, on the other hand, usually puts his whole body into it by twisting his torso, moving his feet, and using what Young calls his “total motorium” to get the job done. This creates a weird feeling where the part of your body doing the work feels totally separate from the parts that are just… hanging out. It’s like your arm is on a mission, but the rest of you isn’t even on the team.

Similar to this example, workout plans made for women that promote “abs challenges” or “leg day” basically train women to perform this mode of discontinuous unity. We are told we need to isolate parts of our body that just need a quick fix in order to get our perfect body. Young argues that this discontinuity comes from women being conditioned to experience their body as an object to be looked at, rather than a subject of action. These workouts focus on aesthetic goals of molding your butt, legs, arms, etc. to fit a certain beauty standard instead of improving the actual health and function of your body. It is just another way to push the idea that women must shape and decorate their bodies to visually please men. In contrast to workouts like dance or yoga, where the goal is to get your whole body moving in sync.

Looking back, this connection seems obvious, but it’s not something I could have noticed when I was 12 years old and hated the way I look. I gobbled up any of these workouts I could find, hoping that one could give me the perfect body that it promoted. Even though I stopped participating in them myself,  there are still many young girls doing the exact same thing. It makes me wonder if the cycle will always repeat itself with new, unaware girls who may never read Young’s essay in eight years to connect the dots.

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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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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.

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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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Becoming Whole In a World of Fragments

Reading Sandy Stone’s “The Empire Strikes Back: A posttransexual manifesto” felt like stumbling upon a secret I didn’t know I needed. One quote stood out to me, almost as if it were waiting for me to see it:   “This paper…is about morality tales and origin myths, about telling the ‘truth’ of gender.”  Stone is talking about the stories society tells us,stories that claim to be the “truth” about who we are, even when those truths don’t fit us. For trans people, these stories are often used to deny their identities or paint them as something artificial. But the idea of being trapped in a story that isn’t your own? That resonated deeply with me.  I’ve lived my whole life caught in a story that I didn’t write. It’s the one that tells me I’m not enough. Not pretty enough, not confident enough, not “worthy” enough. I don’t even know when it started. Maybe it was growing up surrounded by images of perfection I could never reach, or hearing the subtle ways people praise others for what I always felt I lacked. Over time, I internalized it. It became my “truth.” Stone’s words reminded me that these stories aren’t real, they’re constructs, born from societal expectations, comparison, and insecurity. They’re myths, handed down to us as if they’re fact. And just like Stone argues for trans people to reclaim their narratives, I feel like I need to do the same for myself.   But that’s easier said than done. When I look at others, I see their beauty, their confidence, their ease. I convince myself they’re everything I’m not. I’ll scroll through social media, comparing myself to images of people who seem flawless, wondering why I can’t see myself that way. I’ve spent years trying to measure up to a standard I never set and every time I fall short, it reinforces the idea that I’m not enough.   What Stone helped me realize is that the only person who can rewrite my story is me. I don’t have to accept the idea that my worth depends on how closely I resemble someone else. My value doesn’t come from meeting some impossible standard, it comes from being me.  That’s not to say it’s easy. Some days, I catch a glimpse of my own reflection and think, “Maybe I’m not so bad after all.”  But other days, the old voices creep back in, whispering that I’ll never measure up. It’s a slow process, unlearning the lies I’ve believed for so long.   But Stone gives me hope. If it’s possible to challenge something as deeply rooted as society’s myths about gender, then it must also be possible to challenge the myths I’ve told myself about who I am. It’s not about becoming someone else, it’s about learning to see myself clearly, without the noise of comparison and doubt.  I’m not there yet, but I’m starting to believe I can get there. Little by little, I’m learning to let go of the story that says I’m not enough. And in its place, I’m beginning to write a new one: one where I see myself as whole, just as I am.  


Empowerment, Inspirering

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Addressing misconceptions of tattoo culture and tattoos as art today

In recent years the tattoo industry has grown significantly; social influence has deconstructed a lot of the stigma around tattoos, and outdated conceptions of tattooing have been dispelled. As an artist, tattoo culture is truly fascinating… It is such a democratic form of art and the commonality and accessibility of tattooing as an art form makes it an interesting subject. 

The permanence of tattooing is integral to its nature, and the permanence of art which is so personal to an individual is a unique phenomenon. There has long been discourse about addressing tattooing as a form of art- this goes along with misconceptions that tattoos are “unprofessional” or “delinquent”. 

However, today, tattooing is much more appropriately addressed as a very impressive and particular form of art. The relationship between art, artist, and customer here is much more complicated than with traditional types of art. Tattoos demand that the consumer accepts this art as a part of them, and there is a unique trust in this process. There is also then the idea of the impermanence of the art for the artist. Their “canvas” per say is coincidentally impermanent to them. It is, conversely, entirely permanent to the consumer. This then leads to the discussion of how tattoos impact or alter one’s individual embodiment. Tattoos to many people are an outward expression of parts of their identity often not visible to the public. To me this is such a beautiful intersection of freedom, identity, and art.

 I think that some stigma that still remains regarding tattoos is their permanence and meaning- there is a general sentiment that now, okay, tattoos are acceptable, but they should be regarded with importance and meaning and hold particular value. I think that this is still a misconception and hinders that freedom of expression previously mentioned. 

To me, tattoos can hold meaning and tell a story, but they also express simple beauty and art. There doesn’t need to be some significant life event or meaning to warrant someone wanting a beautiful piece of art immortalized on their skin. 

To me, my tattoos tell my story, and I will continue building that story as I grow older. I also love collecting tattoos from different artists, and I hope to do this on a larger scale as I go on and travel and have more unique experiences. I love that each of my tattoos holds a memory of a particular artist and a unique interaction and experience. I love collecting other people’s art on my body and using it as a means for my own expression and self confidence. I think it’s a beautiful exchange of expression and identity. 

I love too that this expression then allows me to connect with others around me who are interested by what they see on my body; I think of my tattoos as a sort of outward preface to my personality and identity and that exact idea has led to some truly wonderful interactions and even friendships. 

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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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Disability, Pain, & Pride

When we read Shakespeare’s Social Model of Disability, it introduced a concept I had never considered before. At first, I did actually like it, but the more I thought about it, the more my thoughts changed.

I am someone who is both physically disabled and neurodivergent. I have always been neurodivergent, of course, but my physical disability did not become more prominent until recently; and with it has come shame. I think this is why I was drawn to the social model of disability at first. I am ashamed and embarrassed of the visibility that comes with my disability and how I have to accommodate it. Reading this social model helped me think of this shame in a new light, however – it is not my fault I am ashamed. It is the society around me who has made me embarrassed and forced me to push myself past my limits countless times.


At the same time, however, I realized that this is not fair to myself and my identity as a whole. Yes, it is the society around me that has caused me shame and embarrassment and an unrealistic stubbornness that makes me push myself. But that does not take away the pain I am in, or the potential complications of my disability. And even if it is “just” society causing this shame, that doesn’t take away the pain from the nights I’ve wasted staying up wishing with everything in me I could be “normal”, wishing that I could just understand social cues and not have sensory issues or anxiety or mood issues.


It also takes away from the community I’ve found in spite of this pain. I’ve had negative social interactions because of my neurodivergency and my disability, but framing these things as purely societal issues takes away from all of the positive aspects of social interaction while disabled. I am always so grateful for that community and the people that have been there for me consistently. I’ve learned a lot about both myself and the world around me as I navigate being disabled and neurodivergent, and even though there are bad days, I love the community and the people I’ve found, and I love our persistence despite the pain we experience, regardless of where it comes from.

Image source: https://www.hamiltondds.org/cincinnati-region-celebrates-disability-pride-in-july/

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A Puppet: Follow the rules I make about YOUR body! (TW: eating disorder, body image, parental issues)

It’s such an odd concept, isn’t it?? My mother started controlling my body image when I was in elementary school. 6 years old and already practically dieting. She would give me specific low-calorie, thin ass bread for my sandwiches with a single slice of cheese as my lunch for the day. 10 years old and already posting long workouts that I did on social media so my mother would be proud of me that I was making an effort to make my body more acceptable for her. I developed an eating disorder in elementary school. I was always so scared of my mother seeing me eat that I became so secretive. Binge eating disorder isn’t taken seriously, she knew I had it, admitting she knew, but I guess it was another way of controlling me for her to not help me. I remember hiding snacks under my bed that I was given at school so I could have them without her seeing and judging me. Halloween as a kid was pointless, she always gave my candy away to people at her work because I “didn’t need it”. I was a kid. My mother snapping at me to pull my shirt out, “suggesting” (the things she told me were never a suggestion: you don’t go against what Vicki says, your body is her puppet) that I take my selfies at a higher angle to hide my double chin, telling me to wear shapewear so my clothes would “flatter”… the best they could that is as she looked my body up and down in disgust. I was a child.

I have always been her puppet. Wear this, don’t wear that you can see how fat you are, god don’t sit like that you can see your fat rolls, when does it stop?? The answer? Never.

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