A Place To Draw Blood Laughing

Kink journal? What, what?

People are talking about beauty. That’s got me thinking. What a surprise, really, that something would get me thinking. Here’s where my consciousness went wandering.

I have this friend. She’s kind of a new friend, because not only am I (as previously mentioned) practically crippled at getting to know people, she is also exceedingly pretty, and exceedingly pretty people are a titchy bit tough for me. I am by far my harshest critic and can easily convince myself that such and such a person is simply too cool for me. I did this with Blaise when we first met. We laugh about it now; such a ridiculous concept, that we wouldn’t like each other.

But I’m glad I know her, because she is charming, and also kind of wonderfully smart.

She and I and a few others had a interesting conversation a bit ago, in which she mentioned that she sometimes feels uncomfortable in scene spaces because of her beauty. Other people will sometimes react negatively to her body, as though her presence is a critique upon themselves.

There’s that insidious, damaging us-versus-them mentality creeping up again. In the issue of physical beauty more than anything else, people seem to be incapable of assessing themselves on a non-comparative basis. Obviously this is because we feel that we have to be judged against some kind of standard, which is only moderately less fucked up than declaring we must be judged at all. But it’s very, very different to judge oneself against an idealist idiom with no physical manifestation and to judge oneself against a real live person, standing in front of you. You’ve drawn the other person unwittingly and unfairly into your process of judgement.

And although I found that to be rather horrendous, even I am guilty of the smaller sin of dismissing the body issues of other people. I sometimes brush off the concerns of my friends. I think I’m a bit plump ’round the edges. I lost a bunch of weight, then gained some of it back, and now bounce around from day to day. I have bad-ish skin and ugly feet. For the longest time I was convinced something was wrong with my face, with my features too small for my flesh. But I self-deprecate and other people react with incredulity, and sometimes bitterness as well. Like hell you’re fat, you’re skinnier than me! You’re not ugly, you’re beautiful, I’m the one who’s ugly. How dare you have body image issues? How dare you?

Us versus them. Me versus you. I get that the instinct to rank people according to appearance is partially biological, but we’re in the 21st century and I’d like to believe we’ve grown beyond the grunting of our lizard brains. I get that it’s deeply cultural, but I’d like to think we’re aware enough to use culture as a common language rather than a common standard.

Many people believe that confidence is directly linked to physical appearence. It seems logical that if we’d feel better if we wore a size four, then the people who already wear a size four must feel fan-fucking-tastic all the time. We make no allowances for genetics. We cut ourselves no slack.

Why don’t we have an us versus them mentality on intelligence, I wonder? People are much less likely to look at some briliant philosopher and say to themselves, “Damn, I’m so not as smart as that guy. I suck.” But young girls look at models all the time and think their lives will be over if they don’t make themelves that skinny. This is the crisis of body image. Anorexia, bulimia, plain old every day angst, the desparate need to become prettier. There are no damaging psychological or physical diseases based upon the desperate need to become smarter.

When did it come about that our culture contentedly accepts intelligence as a natural, innate gift of genetics, yet deprecates and criminalizes physical appearance as completely under a person’s control? Unfortunate if you’re stupid, lucky if you’re smart. Valuable if you’re skinny, worthless if you’re not.

Has no one caught on to the idea that you can make yourself smarter? That intelligence demands to be worked at, that it is far more insistent and just as hard and just as worth doing?

And has no one caught on that there will always be someone prettier, smarter, better on the sliding judgment scale? And that sometimes a game in which you cannot win is not a game worth playing?

I’ve no intention of writing a philosophical treatise on the advantages of Objectivism in this blog. But it has been to my advantage to allow myself the luxury of isolated judgment. To deliberately, consciously set my own standards and determine my own value. I am no less driven for trying to step outside a competitive mentality, and in fact hold myself to standards that are upon occasion ridiculous. But they’re my own. And of course I fail sometimes, and of course I judge sometimes and get occasionally bitter, but I’m always swinging back to my own definitions.

It should be noted, however, that attempting to take oneself outside of a competitive mode when dealing with one’s own value does not prevent one from evaluating others. We can’t help evaluating people; we do it unconsciously. It makes the difference between choosing our partners based on our personal inclinations and choosing them at random.

I have zero intention of claiming that I don’t hold my partners to standards. Of course I hold my partners to standards; the people I chose to involve myself with both affect and reflect my life. I won’t invite just anyone into my home or my bed.

And although it might just be politically incorrect to say so, some of my standards are mental, and some are physical. It is a very common (and I think more positive than the alternative) attitude to become frustrated with strictly physical expectations, and to as a result adhere to a strictly mental system of standards, wherein partners are judged only by their personalities, characters, and intelligence. (With the thing where bad logic is reversed again. We just love doing that, don’t we?)

In the case of my friends, mental standards are the only standards I believe are appropriate. (An advantage of the blogosphere.) I may worry that my friend Paul is rapidly pushing 350 lbs and is giving himself health problems, but he’s a genuinely terrific man whom I’m glad to have as a friend.

But when it comes to the people I sleep with, the people I play with, physical appearance is a factor. May is playful, clever, funny and devilishly smart. He is also attractive, and smells good. Would I still sleep with him if he wasn’t attractive and smelled bad? Probably; he’s pretty damned brilliant and the physical doesn’t make or break my decisions. But it helps. Of course it helps.

When it comes to physical appearance, all I really expect is an attempt at health, by whatever definition works for that person. A bit of consciousness, an acknowledgment that neither of us is contained entirely within a mental realm and our bodies don’t exist just to lug around the hardware. I don’t mind what age you are, I don’t mind how your genes arranged your facial structure. Will it help if you happen to have a body that’s artistically interesting, aesthetically balanced? Will it help if I think you’re hot as hell? Sure. Of course it will. But I like playing with people, not inflatable skins.

Because I hold myself to physical as well as mental standards, I expect a certain awareness in both aspects from my partners. I expect them to deserve me.

Watch it now. Think about what that means; no writing it off as standard femdom propaganda. I am smart, self aware, sometimes funny, mentally engaged, personally demanding, have very high goals, and am aware of my body. I’m also arrogant, neurotic, guilt-ridden, awkward, eat like crap, don’t exercise enough and am more than a little fucked up and strange. I expect my partners to deserve me.