On being half naked in public
"Talking about my romantic relationship makes me feel far more exposed than, say, posting a photo where you can see the the top of my butt crack."
1
In 2016, I was writing for a lingerie blog and had a big question to answer: Did I want to post pictures of myself in my underwear on the internet?
So much of my being was already on the internet. Like many 20-something Millennials, I used my Instagram as a photo diary, probably a hold-over from an adolescent existence on LiveJournal. I promoted my business and artwork through social media, met friends and colleagues through blogging, and shared bits of my life on the daily through pink-tinted filters.
And while it was time-consuming and strange, I kind of loved it. Editing photos and artwork, writing copy, creating something that reflects the world in your head… It’s denigrated as vain, a waste of time, “something girls do,”1 but “posting” can be a kind of art form. And maybe one of the most accessible forms of art, too.
Just like when I paint a canvas, sew a dress, or decorate my home, I love creating things that represent how the world looks through my eyes—even if it’s merely by taking a carefully-directed picture of myself.
Being an artist, making things that mean something to you? It’s synonymous with being half naked in public. It means you’re constantly bearing your soul.
So I decided I simply did not care if I was literally half naked in public, and spent many subsequent years reviewing some of the prettiest lingerie I never even dreamt of owning. Posing in my underwear became part of my art practice.
2
Due to a potent combination of hippie parents, working in the fashion industry, loving lingerie as apparel, and being an artist most of my life, I very rarely see my body as sexual.
It’s a body. It exists. It has form and proportion, aesthetically pleasing parts and things I think aren’t so attractive, things I adore and things I don’t care about. I can decorate it, take photos of it, create art from it, move it around to feel good or rest it to take care of it. I can change some things, while others are simply the way they are. And it’s an excellent canvas for clothing.
When I pull together an outfit, whether it’s on me or someone else, I like to have at least one body part uncovered—Shoulders, or legs, or back. It’s a proportion thing, an aesthetic thing. I love a short skirt with long sleeves, or a plunging neckline with a frilly skirt. My style has nothing to do with modesty or a lack thereof. It’s just fashion, just art.2
But I quickly learned that most people don’t see it that way. Especially in a city-wide meat market town like New York, you learn to dress yourself a certain way in order to exist without unwanted attention.
Wear a cardigan or light jacket on even the hottest days—better yet if it’s long and drapey, so a guy can’t see your ass when he subtly angles himself to watch you walk away. On a first date, pick a sundress with no cleavage, or you risk this stranger saying “I love your necklace” as an excuse to stare at your chest, believing he’s so smart and you have noooo idea what he’s doing.3
For me, it doesn’t feel as satisfying as wearing exactly what I like, but it’s better than the alternative.
3
In early 2019, I went on a third date with a lanky artist from southern California who wasn’t afraid of the glitter on his cocktail two dates earlier. We sat at the counter of Butter & Scotch, a boozy bakery in Brooklyn with kitschy diner-style decor. It was halfway between our two apartments and, unbeknownst to us, a short walk from where we would eventually build a home together. A COVID-era casualty, the now-closed bar was the perfect spot for one drinker and one non-drinker, both with a sweet tooth and a love of kitschy decor.
Sitting at the bar, him with a cocktail and me with a slice of s’mores pie, he complimented the lollipop-printed minidress I had chosen to wear that night. I felt my face light up, exclaiming “Thanks, I made it!” while quickly taking off my cardigan. I was so excited to show off the extra-low halter back that I thought looked so darling with the mini circle skirt I chose for the piece.
But as soon as I pulled the cardigan off my shoulders, I realized my mistake. I instantly felt exposed, forgetting that my art was, once again, so connected to my body. It’s not that I didn’t want him to see me in that way—it was our third date, after all!—but as someone who makes and loves clothing, it’s just so jarring and disappointing when someone pretends to be interested in your art as an excuse to check you out.
But to my genuine shock, his eyes and body language didn’t reflect the same nervous/excited energy that I experienced so many times. He actually looked at my dress, as a separate entity from my figure. He said it was so cute, and that he liked the fabric. He asked me more about my art practice, about the clothes I like to make. And he meant it.
4
It’s been over four and a half years since that date, and he always says his favorite thing about me is how creative I am. He’s the first artist I’ve ever dated, and certainly not coincidentally, the first person I’ve dated who truly, deeply understands how my brain works and how I see the world.
When he proposed to me at the beginning of a ten-day road trip up the California coast, we didn’t tell anyone for a few days. That silence, that secret that belonged to just us, was one of the greatest things I’ve ever experienced. It was a little difficult to not craft something beautiful to post out of that moment, and continues to be hard in some ways.4 I truly love sharing our happiness with our friends and family, and almost a month later, I still sit and stare and take pretty photos of the sparkly pink ring that he kept safe in his desk for so many months.
I don’t have to post about our engagement. Or our life together. Or any of this! It’s not part of my work, it doesn’t pay my bills. My relationship isn’t a commodity. When you put so much of your life out into the world, it’s an interesting feeling to just… not.
But sharing the beautiful things in my life is part of my personal art practice, so I don’t know exactly how to move forward with all of it yet. Talking publicly about the expansive feelings my partner has planted and tended to within me, or even just sharing a photo of my engagement ring, makes me feel far more exposed than, say, posting a photo where you can see the the top of my butt crack. But it also feels deeply meaningful—to be able to put these feelings to words, to release them into the world.
So for now, I am walking through life effervescently. And as for him? His Instagram is private.
What was blooming… three weeks ago
24 hours of the aforementioned whirlwind California road trip were spent in San Francisco, where my good friend Robin gave a little tour of her own neighborhood botanic garden: the San Francisco Botanical Garden.
The SFBG seems to play a similar part in Robin’s life as the BBG plays in mine, and that mirrored part of our friendship feels very meaningful to me. It’s been a few weeks since then, but I still wanted to share this bounty.
Trumpets of all sizes, including teeny-tiny,
Blooms that feel more plastic than petal,
Flowers that mimic pineapples or fried eggs,
Every color on the planet, even teal,
And some very, very tall trees.
…and let’s be real, isn’t everything that "girls do” denigrated and labeled as a waste of time?
I can’t help but think if my body looked differently, smaller, straighter, more “neutral,” other people would see it that way, too. But that’s a topic for another day.
Straight men really think we are idiots.
Am I doing it now?? Is this just my long-winded, elevated version of the “I said yes I can’t wait to do life with this man hashtag bride tribe” post????
I adore this
It was such a lovely time to host you in my little SF garden! Those trees were SO tall.