Callout: Body Shame | Rebellion
“No one has the right to demand that your body be something other than what it is.” ― Agnostic Zetetic
I spend a lot of time thinking about body. But not just my body, which again, I spend way too much time on (scolding it, patronizing it, abusing it) and I know I am not alone. Growing up, as a self-identifying female, my body was scrutinized and I think this is fairly universal (at least in _humans_). Sometimes from others, but a lot of time from ourselves. Maybe it’s for vanity and attraction, or maybe our body didn’t come with the same pieces that other’s did. But more often than not, whatever body we have, it isn’t “right.” In many ways our body can and does become a constant literal reminder of how we don’t fit in.
For our first prompt we wanted to open the floodgates of what it means to have a relationship with your body, and how that piles into a multitude of different feelings.
Personal Body Shame
Body shaming is something that happens to everyone, from discovering your gender, size, shape, color, ability, (endless list really), to sexual objectification,… . But where does it come from; others or ourselves? How is it portrayed? Is it play ground bullying? Workplace banter? Or does it show in verbal or other types of abuse? But what do you do with it? How do you live with it? Does it invade your every thought or invade the lines of your notebook? Or do clothes save you in your quest to hide —
Women have often carried the torch of what it means to have a terrible of demented view of their own body. From understanding their growing development to understanding catcalls. Fighting eating disorders or embracing the consistent array of self- obsessed exercise. Most of us know someone who has lived this life if we haven’t lived it ourselves. But, when we think of body image, are there people we are forgetting?
In 2016, the men’s fashion world opened doors that had long been sealed by inviting one of the first high plus size mail models to a high-end magazine. Inviting Zach Mikos to lead the revolution of men joining the plus-size conversation. There is an obvious juxtaposition, right? Because haven’t men led the conversation on what a person’s ( male/ female/ non-binary) should look like? And yet, how many other people are being left out of that conversation?
Cultural Body Shame
Looking in the mirror (or any reflective surface for that matter) can be a chore on any given day. It could also be an addiction (confirming who we are, what we look like). But this battle far from ends there. Governments sneak in and make laws about our body in the most personal and disturbing ways. Media constantly reminds us how we are unsuitable for this world. Author, Karishma, writes about Indian media (again universal, just parameters change as we cross borders):
All the advertisements of cosmetics are preaching how it is absolutely essential to run after a fairer skin in order to get a job and/or fiancée while many food item advertisements are reminding us how crucial it is to lose fat within 25 days in order to look attractive in a party.
What happens when a body enhancing practice moves into the realm of shame for an entire culture?
A thousand year old tradition of women breaking and binding their feet in China, served as an erotic and cultural seduction. Having been taught by their mothers, as girls, to embrace this tradition. Listening to songs and reading poetry about the power of this process to entice men was a part of their journey into womanhood. ( To be clear, I am no expert on the matter, nor will I pretend to be…)
But what strikes me as most pervasive, were the girls who caught in the middle of having learned this. They sat in their kitchens and broke their bodies. In the 1960s, China went through a cultural revolution.
This practice became outlawed. And what happened to those girls?
I HAVE SEEN A ROAD
I HAVE SEEN A ROAD THAT WANDERS IN GREEN SHADE, THAT RUNS THROUGH SWEET FIELDS OF FLOWERS. MY EYES HAVE TRAVELED THERE, AND JOURNEYED FAR ALONG THAT COOL FINE ROAD.
BUT I WILL NEVER REALLY WALK THAT ROAD; IT DOES NOT REALLY LEAD TO WHERE SHE LIVES.
WHEN SHE WAS BORN, THEY BOUND HER LITTLE FEET WITH LEATHER BANDS; MY BELOVÈD NEVER WALKS THE ROAD OF SHADE AND FLOWERS.
WHEN SHE WAS BORN, THEY BOUND HER LITTLE HEART WITH LEATHER BANDS; MY BELOVÈD NEVER LISTENS TO MY SONG.
Anonymous (from The Jade Flute, Chinese Poems in Prose )
Also read Agnes Louis powerful take on this subject in her poem unBound
If we look to the West, we see that there are bodies that invisible to the body conversation altogether. Shame from politics of nature. How often do we look at ageing as a chore? Plucking this, or stretching that? There is something about ageing that leads people and their bodies to become invisible. To become less attractive, less inviting… not even a blip on the radar, and what kind of shame comes with that? Knowing that whatever might have been ridicule years earlier, no longer matters?
Some of us are given the wrong body to start with. Man but a woman, woman but a man. The wonderful all and in-between. We are still a long way from accepting the sexual/gender spectral of our fellow humans. When some brave ones take control of their identity — age still catches up.
Did Paris Burn?
A shady room, a hungry cat, some brushstrokes away- Paris burnt, baby burnt - in fiddly clubs - in bouts of blaze
Other me — dressed inside out, veins on blood on upturned skin Mid-afternoon, opened in light as I tacked fake eyelashes on hung lids
Paris took a flame on its head and spun in circles, like a circus buffoon Paris took a flame for all of us in a peach gown, and 6-inch-high shoes
I dyed my mouth in sham L’Occitane en Provence -switched on Deep Fake (my drag epithet) -sashayed for my eightieth birthday Yaaass! the young queens cheered (in fake (deep) squawk)
Paris said, make way, you hag I watched Paris burn, burn to death I watched- -smoldering, pitch-golden streets of Montmatre -glaring, fall of the mighty Notre Dame I watched- my Paris in flakes just like me, its darling fruitcake
all — laugh, the queen’s arrived all — plead, the hem’s misplaced all — love, baby love
For Paris ain’t all that romantic For Paris is burning in its groin For Paris will take down its -old-tumbleweed-queen- on her last walk on the runway
My sweet - Deep Fake. À la prochaine.
( The above is a poem by Shringi Kumari from a previous post)
Body Shame Rebellion
The relationship between our bodies has recently been living through a revolution. Activists and body positivists have been working and speaking tirelessly about the acceptance of every-body. But one of the very first people to step onto the precipice of self-love, and the embrace of one’s own body was none other than…
Maya Angelou
Arguably one of the greatest writers of the modern era, made famous this poem, about what it meant to have a body of difference. A body, that didn’t casually fit into the social circles of the “elite.” This is just one example of how a society determines what is allowed, what is the norm? The questions posed by others from the confidence carried by the author in this poem comments on how having a body like this, and bathing in it, gloriously living in it, is its own form of rebellion.
Phenomenal Woman
BY MAYA ANGELOU
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size But when I start to tell them, They think I’m telling lies. I say, It’s in the reach of my arms, The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I’m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me.
I walk into a room Just as cool as you please, And to a man, The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees. Then they swarm around me, A hive of honey bees. I say, It’s the fire in my eyes, And the flash of my teeth, The swing in my waist, And the joy in my feet. I’m a woman Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman, That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered What they see in me. They try so much But they can’t touch My inner mystery. When I try to show them, They say they still can’t see. I say, It’s in the arch of my back, The sun of my smile, The ride of my breasts, The grace of my style. I’m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me.
Now you understand Just why my head’s not bowed. I don’t shout or jump about Or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing, It ought to make you proud. I say, It’s in the click of my heels, The bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, The need for my care. ’Cause I’m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me.
The Body Shame Rebellion has begun. Whether it is dissecting and discussing the body you have been given, or a celebration of breathing in the multitude of bodies you see on a daily basis.
Let’s talk about it. Poem/ prose/ essay/ article/ combo/ script/ dialogue/ trialogue? Express what it is you have to say and explore? Confused about bodies? Bring it up?
Want to rant and scream at why there aren’t enough plus-size male models? Want to discuss the differing diatribes of living in this body. Bring it. We want to SEE you.
Once we are comfortable in our skin, we will probably get a step closer in allowing others to be comfortable in theirs.
DEAR BODY
Body, be who you need to be. Brown girl in an orange dress. Red macaw in a canopy. Be flock. Be the oldest living thing rooted beneath the language of things. The cypress your mother called Sarv-e Abarkuh. Be a life less heavy with history. Be the little boy who skips school to sell tea on the street. Be a box of pears clothed in gold paper. Be something more tart. Lime. Be mouth, be kingdom. Wear something made of infinity. Be sunset over a silk Zardosi sea. Be the young girl who survived a drowning by her loved ones. Be acid. Be sailed. Be colony. Be endangered and dangerous. Wear your own damp skin. Body, be something useful. Be dam and river the desert like blue streamers. River the village like the saddest epic. When you lay in the street with blood pooling around you, be memory. Be at the center of living. If nothing else, be a shadow of the thing.
For this prompt — send in your BodyShameRebellion.
Please use BodyShameRebellion as one of your tags. Tagging a few writers here — everyone is welcome.
Gabriella Salazar, schian H, Yamini MacLean, Johanna Naomi, Anisesh, Brian Fehler, Dennett, wimpy af, Tracy Aston, Zarina Dara 🥀💃🏻, Jenny Justice, Rebeca Ansar, Ashwini Dodani, Shruti Sinha, Samantha Lazar, Jessi Roman, Vaishali Paliwal, Priyanka Srivastava, Christina Ward 🌼, Anish Lamichhane, MD, David S., Austin Briggman, Chiedza Kikumi, Anna Rozwadowska, Jk Mansi, Keara Lou, Michael Stang, Sean Michael, Jessica Archuleta, Sylvia Wohlfarth, J.J. Tung, Radha Chetna Laxhmi, Justcallmejillybean, Maymuuna, Rusty Alderson, Rajesh Vairapandian, Jordyn Schwersky, Shobha Roy, Shaunta Grimes, Shannon Ashley, Felicia C. Sullivan, Rolli, Nadia Davidson, Natalie Frank, Ph.D. (Clinical Psychology), Agnes Louis, Tre L. Loadholt, kurt gasbarra
For those of you who want to join us a writer please read more about BNG here and comment on that link to be added as a writer
