Monday, January 10, 2005

the mirror lied to me

As much as I try, earnestly, to avoid beauty standards and practices in this particular era of social norms (to the point of sticking my fingers in my ears, closing my eyes, and going "la la la"), sometimes it's hard not to let it get to me. This is why I often end up taking weird, poorly focussed pictures of the pieces of me I actually like (my right eye and feet, for example) just so I can feel like part of me is special.

Most of the rest of the time I incessantly run Ani's line from Evolve, "it took me too long to realize that I don't take good pictures because I have the kind of beauty that moves," through my head. Go inner feminist, go! Fuck your facist beauty standards! Fuck 'em, I say!

Other times I just think about that scene in Eternal Sunshine, where Clementine is talking about the doll she had as a kid. That makes me sad. As much as I am not attracted to Jim Carrey, it'd still be nice to have someone fight off the feeling for me and then give me a kiss afterward.

I'm not really looking for a pat on the back and a tissue here, or anything. I'm just curious. Do you get the raving lonelies and do they force you to be more critical of yourself than you deserve? In what capacity? How do you deal? Do you even give a shit?