i recently discovered that i enjoy wearing revealing and form-fitting clothing. i'm someone who's been scale-stepping since the first grade, avoiding the mirror since god knows when. i grew up begging my future self to "fix" the way i look, because no one found grace in my body. now, strangely, i want to look at myself. i hate the way i look in oversized clothesâand as a person whose curves are as uniform as a pop star's voice without autotune, that's most of what i own. they hide me from myself, telling me the more i look like a potato sack, the less people will acknowledge my shape. but that's the trick, isn't it? it's always about other people. because, of course, how could a body not be public property in the middle of the sidewalk, on the train, in the library (/s)? how could i exist in public spaces and expect to maintain ownership of my time, my choices, my pride (/s)? as i process the trauma of existing under misogynoir, i begin to understand that i belong to myself. it's such a simple concept, one that no one wants you to learn. but you sit at a train station at the age of 15 in the most conservative clothes that you own, surrounded by your fellow schoolmates, and a man in his late 30s or early 40s tries his darndest to convince you to have sex with him. at 18, your dad passive-aggressively explains that because you're wearing a tank top with the mildest cleavageâin 85°F weatherâhe can't take you to your grandparents' house like he planned. even though it was your grandmother who bought the shirt for you. even though two months later, your straight-sized younger cousin wears a crop top around them and no one bats an eye. and when you arrive at his house, he tells you to put on something more conservative because there are men in the house. like him. and your brother. and your older cousins. the accumulation of tens of these eventsâsome indirect, some far more traumatizingâgrinds into your head every time you choose an outfit and wonder how you can simultaneously be unsightly and titillating. how men always find a path to objectify you, no matter what you wear. and one day, you buy a dress online that you surmise will fit you loosely, but hugs you like your great-grandaunt on christmas. and you realize, finally acknowledge, that you're the one in possession of yourself. for once in your life, you don't want to look away from your body, and you understand that you only ever hated it, feared it, because society expected you to.
stormborns
2087
gracieabrams
romaincrisis
