i unfollowed audreyhepburncomplex. i’ve thought about doing it a million times but some of the stuff posted is really, really beautiful. i always went back and forth about it, but today i realized i needed to. it always feels so empty, all style no substance. but it’s not the photos themselves that are the problem; it’s the subject. and the subjects make me feel upset with myself. with my ankles, belly, skin, legs. i find myself thinking things like, my legs will never be that skinny, my skin has never and will never be that clear and smooth and pale, my arms will never fit into those sleeves, i will never own immaculate dresses like that, i will never be that person.
i don’t want to be that person. but more importantly, i don’t want to want to be that person. that’s what i like about me. i am a good person, i like to think. i try. i try not to get too caught up in thinking about what i look like, or about judging other based on what they look like. i try not to be too hard on myself, while trying to keep my privilege in check and accept criticism with rationality, not defensiveness. i try to articulate the injustices i see happening around me and resist in the only ways i know how. does it matter what i look like while doing these things? will wearing those perfect shoes and having the perfect sunflare coming through my window really make my life that much better? fuck no.
i don’t see myself as perfect, and i never will, and i never want to. happiness does not equal perfection, or vice versa. being happy with who i am and this body i occupy is an ongoing process, one i constantly have to remind myself about. unlearn this, julia, unlearn that. i like my strong legs, big jiggly thighs and all. i like my big hips, the way they feel when i dance or when i fuck. i like my long fingers, my hands that often end up looking accidentally graceful, with lingering moments of teenage awkwardness. i like that i am tall and big.
i’ve always liked the grit. i am attracted to the imperfections, the scars, the stories bodies tell us. i like the clothes with the frayed ends, the stray threads, the holes in the armpits. i like my hairy knees, the thick black hair juxtaposed with my $5 yellow 1950s cotton day dress, with the hem falling out of course, and my crinoline falling down because the elastic is shot. i hate the soft focus, the glow, the distractions. the world isn’t full of sunflares and pretty camera lenses. it is real and it is dirty and digusting and it is fucking beautiful.
beautifully put.
