Photo of me by Jessica Terezakis.
I don’t think its an outrageous statement to say: we live in a world that politicizes everything. For the good or the bad.
I recently attended an event for the Growing Room Festival that included a panel of amazing feminist writers talking about body politics. Topics up for discussion included ableism, racism, ageism, sexuality in women, and the fetishization of women depending on their race, religion, and appearance (you know, light Saturday afternoon discussions).
I left feeling charged, feeling creative, feeling excited about the incredible women who have been calling out the bullshit and the policing of our bodies, but also feeling frustrated by the fact that women, especially women of colour and trans women, are pigeon holed by society. Society has expectations of who we are supposed to be and that is reflected in the representation we see in media and pop culture. One writer/artist at the event noted that they were considered the “ugly best friend” in life and thus had the expectation that they were meant to be bitter, to be jealous. When she instead chooses to love herself people think of her as “brave” and “inspirational.”
The category of beauty has become so narrow that we think it is brave when people love themselves, despite not being able-bodied, or thin, or white, or cis-gendered, or hairless, or on and on and on.
Being all of these things can make you beautiful, but it certainly is not the only category.
Until this event, I had forgotten the reason I started doing photography in the first place. Many years ago, I was inspired by a dear friend who took control of her life and of her body image fears in many ways, one of them being becoming a photographer — taking back control of the female form in her mind. As most women influenced by pop culture and societal expectations, I too was struggling with my body. Early in my teenage years my brother told me “I bet if you lost weight you could actually be pretty.” This message has stuck with me for the last 15 years. Even in my early twenties as people told me I was “too thin” or that I “needed to put on a few pounds,” I couldn’t let go of other messages I’d internalized about my weight. As a woman behind the lens, I started to replace the Male Gaze I saw myself and other women through with eyes that were more inclusive and less comparison-obsessed. I photographed women a lot at first. I even put myself in front of the lens with a self-timer and my camera propped up on books and pencils to get the right angle. Through photography I started to understand the variety of incredible feminine beauty — I mean beauty in such a full sense of the word. Beauty in the soft and hard lines of a body. Beauty in the feeling women get when they are comfortable, and feel safe being photographed. Beauty in the nervous laughter of a woman who has never seen herself that way. Beauty in the insecurities and times when a woman couldn’t let go of her internalized impressions of her own body. Beauty in vulnerability. Beauty in it all.
Photography started as a tool for me to cope with my internalized shame around my body, and as a way for me to take back control of the Gaze on femme bodies. Through photography and eventually writing poetry as well, I was able to not only see myself in a more true sense, I actually started to celebrate my body, my “Native” features, my fluctuating weight, my blemishes, the hair growing on other places than my head. Celebrating these parts of me does not make me brave, it simply means that I took some time to unlearn the bullshit messages from our deeply patriarchal systems that I had internalized about my body, about other women’s bodies, and about categories of beauty.
I am now almost five months pregnant with my first baby and the changes happening in my body are so wild, so beautiful, so terrifying, so exciting. I want to build a home for my baby, no matter their sex or gender identity where they celebrate all the endless categories of beauty in themselves and in others. It will be me against all the messages mainstream pop culture feeds my kid, but I think I have a good shot.
Body image and politics goes so far beyond just this. I want to recognize that I am a very privileged, white passing person. I have always wanted to use my skills to help amplify just how ableist, racist, sexist, prude, and on and on and on, this world can be towards our bodies. With photography I want to continue to unlearn and hopefully help others unlearn the messages they have been told about their own bodies. Solidarity to all the folks whose health is not taken seriously based on their appearance, whose mental health is questioned based on their appearance, who experience some of the worst humanity has to give and still find ways to lift themselves and others up. We are all fucking magic creatures. I see you all, and I love you all.
Here is a poem I wrote after the Body Politics discussion as a personal reflection, if you’re interested:
Good girl.
Good, little, girl.
Good, little, freckled, girl.
Round nose. Almond eyes.
Those cheekbones, that forehead?
How white could you really be?
Good, little, freckled, girl.
Think, if you lost “the” weight
how pretty you could really be.
Good, little, freckled, girl.
Whose mother was shamed, bullied
for speaking Portuguese
Good, little, freckled, girl.
Whose father comes from this land — kind of.
robbed of learning his native tongue.
Good, little, freckled, girl.
What is your language
if you speak none?
Even good, little, freckled, girls grow up.
When I was that good, little, freckled, girl
it was not my dream to stop seeing beauty
even this little, freckled, girl
fell captive to the whispers saying
”Beauty is a category”
Good, little, freckled, girl.
You grew tall enough to be considered thin.
Your skin is white enough to be considered desirable.
Thank you for categorizing me;
Only, you forgot to anticipate
my humanity.
-Jams