Last weekend, I had the honor, courtesy of Viva Valezz, to perform a burlesque routine at James St Gastropub and Speakeasy. I was terrified beforehand and experienced the predictable deluge of emotions that comes with stepping across one’s comfort zone. But, I did it.
The benefit was a 15 hour (!!!) extravaganza put together by Viva Valezz to aid the Pennsylvania ACLU and ended up making over $3,500 in donations. It was an awesome cause and it was so inspiring to see the many stripes of performers (I saw a Mad Max inspired burlesque act, a sword swallower, a male bellydancer, spoken word from The Vagina Monologues, and a folk-singing duo in just one hour) all from Pittsburgh.
Here’s to fighting and loving in the midst of it all.
Sometimes I really forget that I don’t live in some world where chubby girls are called gorgeous and LGBTQ poet-activists issue horoscopes to thousands of people.
Social media has a bright side and that bright side is its ability to create alternative realties where negative socially ingrained ideas are challenged and discarded.
I looked through so many “every body IS a bikini body” posts and hash-tags that I forget that there are still millions of women who are sold the lie that their bodies are not “bikini bodies”. Insert eye-rolling emoji here.
It’s only when I am standing in line buying my almond milk water and I lose the battle not to look at the covers of the magazines. And then I remember:
I live in a world where women are esteemed for how fuckable they are.
I live in a world where a celebrity eating a hot dog in public is news.
I am a cog in a capitalistic regime, mindlessly buying my almond beverage.
Kinda kidding on that last one, but you get the deal: sometimes the messages out there really, really suck.
I think it’s important to remember that the world is not all la-di-da.
We got a lotta work to do.
I used to wear boy shorts and huge white shirts over my swimsuits from 14-22.
I almost always bought the plain, long-torso one-piece.
We’ve come a long way baby.
And though my bikini clad body won’t commence The Revolution, it is evidence of an internal one. I can’t wait to rock my high-cut neon thong cut next year.
Wear that damn bikini or whatever it is for you that you told yourself you “just can’t” wear.