Determined to Suck #4: Perfect Girl

*Determined to Suck is my experiment in letting myself create and display art that is not perfect in an attempt to loosen the bonds of my perfectionist nature that has plagued me since childhood and rears its ugly head in my performing career.  I chose painting with watercolors because it’s cheaper than a lot of things, I love color, and my husband has a lot of art supplies. 

So…I didn’t walk entirely in love and light today, guys. In fact, I allowed myself to get furious at body shaming. I mean, that’s cool right? It happened twice, once before I even had my breakfast about fake boobs to the effect of “natural ones only please!”, and then again just before lunch when I saw a “friend” on facebook who took a photo of a bigger woman on the train. I don’t really want to get into what exactly was said, but suffice to say I was furious with comments about “natural” beauty and then about fat.

I swear we’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t right? “Just accept yourself”…. “beauty comes from the inside” (so long as you’re not ________). In just two incidents perpetuated by women I realize that we are FUUUUUUCKED. We got so much more work to do. Oh man, in my head I went on a rant about what is “natural”- I mean, NONE OF US ARE! even mere hair products are a way to sculpt ourselves into something we want to see more than the self we wake up with when our wigs are off, eye lashes on the sink, nails unpainted, lipgloss wiped off, dermablend is washed off the scars….

The most fun thing about having a body is what we can do with it. The worst thing about having a body is people seem to love to tell us what we “should be doing with it”. Just think, in these fantastic mortal vessels, most of us can move, laugh, breathe, play, paint our faces, sew/glue/put hair on our heads, corset ourselves, and holy shit- just think of all the procedures you can have simply because you want to, or because you had trauma! Magnificent, all of it. Also super groovy if you want none of it. But no judgements!

With that being said though it’s not your job to look spectacular every time you leave the house, being pretty is not a toll you pay in order to walk down the road, or to simply exist (I read a beautiful thing on a site with a way better way of saying that than I just did, but oh well).  Don’t want to wear makeup? No shame! Want a full drag face at 10am? Get it! If you want to wear a different wig every damn day of the week, or you want boobs, do the damn thing! And if anyone side-eyes you for any of it, laugh in their general direction. We are all damn kidding ourselves about natural beauty. We’re damn near bionic at this stage in the game with all our external and internal additives….

If what truly matters is the inside when determining a “good” or “worthy” person, then just pay attention to that. Simple enough. Though I do know that I’m being idealistic, but a girl can dream, right?

Speaking of internal additives, today I received the final of three injections into my knee as a way to prevent surgery and preserve my cartilage. Ouch! Due to the nature of the injection, I’m told to go walk for awhile to move all the fluid around, so I walked from West 60th street (Columbus Circle) down to the bull in the financial district to meet my husband and get on a train. Oh, and today is 9/11. The city was justifiably moody. It was quite a walk. About 1.5 hours down 8th Avenue, all the way.

Can I just say: the people. Holy shit the imperfect, glorious, wonderful people. I decided to play a game. If they looked weary or tired or anything less than happy I would simply say in my head “I wish you love” while glancing in their direction. It kept me pretty busy. We need so much more love on this planet. It was pretty much the business of my entire walk. We’re all here on this giant blue marble trying to get it right, you know? And the weight of this responsibility is heavy. So heavy. It’s in the ill-fitting suits of the financial district, the “I spent an hour picking out this outfit” in Chelsea, the “I have to buy more” in Columbus Circle….and it’s all okay. I might not be personally into some of those things, but it’s all okay. It’s all coping. We are all coping. With being human.

I wonder what we’d all be like if we were told that it would be okay if we messed up sometimes. If we got reallllly dirty. If we pretended to be someone else. If we had the time to truly meditate on who we really are. If we played. If we got to look how we really wanted (I don’t mean how pop-culture tries to brainwash us), and do the jobs that really moved us. I wonder what kind of world we’d get to live in if we chose love a lot more.

While icing my knee and flipping through tumblr (it’s a nightly ritual, one with the other) I found my perfect girl. Here she is- gloriously, beautifully imperfect, and then made even more imperfect by myself. The quote is what struck me after all that happened in my day today and well, in general, because I am a perfectionist trying to break an old habit.


Time for bed. My head is heavy with dreams to come.


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