yes, we get it. i, kate sloan:
-am not conventionally good-looking
-am not skinny
-am a privileged, sheltered white girl
-document my life too much
-do not write conventional “pop tunes”
-tell people when they’re pissing me off
there is no need to inform me of these things. i am well aware. so you can stop hatin’ now, okay? everything you can accuse me of is either already a part of my perception of myself, or blatantly untrue. end of story.
“i suggest that everyone get in front of a camera naked when they’re nineteen…i encourage stepping outside our skewed self-perceptions. i look at pictures of myself from my harem days & wonder, why did i hate myself so much? i was beautiful. i was hopeful. i was brave.”—jillian lauren, author of some girls: my life in a harem (from interview in bust)
at 5 o’clock this morning, i turned EIGHTEEN.
still freaking out a little bit, even though, as it turns out, being eighteen doesn’t actually change that much.
i’m now legally able to rent & buy porn, go see any movie i want without an adult chaperone, & vote.
is it weird that i’m not especially excited about any of that?
i am about to have my second slice of peach pie today, because you know what? it’s my birthday. i don’t have to worry about “being good” today. :)
(I wrote this piece for my creative writing class.)
It was a stunning day. Sunshine sparkled on the surface of the lake and beat down on the smiling faces of the many people staying at the resort that week. Everyone else was stretched out on white plastic chaise lounges, relaxing and getting toasty tans – but I was inside, staring into the mirror at myself and my brand-new black sequined bikini.
Taking deep breaths to calm myself down, I surveyed the parts of me that the bikini revealed – parts I had always concealed, resented, hated. My stomach bulged, my hips swelled, my legs were blindingly pale, my arms were annoyingly pudgy… I didn’t want anyone to see me, not now, not like this.
Pondering my fears from a logical perspective, I knew that realistically, no one actually cared if I was a few pounds from perfect. If I left the cabin now, no one would point and laugh or snap photos to send to the body-berating section of a tabloid magazine. Still, even the possibility of being judged could have been enough to keep me holed up in my little room for the rest of the stay. It was these intense, yet irrational fears that had kept me from ever wearing a bikini in public before.
Growing up in this culture that presents a constant conflict of “be yourself” versus “buy buy buy,” and “love yourself” versus “vanity is a sin,” it’s almost impossible to know what a healthy self-esteem level is supposed to feel like. Some days I hate my body and have the urge to starve it into submission, which I know is bad, while other days, I love my body so much that I want to sing it from the rooftops – but this, we’re often told, is bad as well. Our slick society tries to pretend it wants you to be happy and to love yourself, when really, corporate bigwigs’ ultimate goal is to make you – yes, you – feel hideous, undesirable, unattractive, and desperately in need of expensive magic potions and flaw-erasing makeup. It’s sick, sad, and extremely distressing that self-love is a radical act these days.
Standing in front of that mirror, my thoughts seemed to consist solely of assorted destructive phrases, all stacked up like a pile of magazine clippings: “cosmetic surgery,” “abs of steel,” “cellulite reduction.” After a while, I made the active decision to banish these from my mind, and what immediately replaced them surprised me. It was a Dr. Seuss quote: “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.” Strangely, that was all it took to convince me to step out onto the beach in my black bikini whose sequins glinted vividly in the August sun.
At first, I cowered by the pool, letting the lake breeze spread goosebumps along my flawed flesh. I felt like a mutt at a pedigree dog show. Then, some girl chirped, “I love your bathing suit!” and I realized that while this was a vacation from life, it was not a vacation from my own body – and I was okay with that. More than okay, in fact. I thought: I love myself! I may not look like Angelina Jolie, but I am gorgeous! I am rocking these sequins with my perfect belly and my lovely hips and my sexy legs and my adorable arms!
These days I love myself fully and unapologetically, never letting anyone tell me to tone down my outrageous self-adoration. I figure it’s better to dive headfirst into the deep end of self-acceptance than to waste away dilly-dallying in the shallow.
same person from before re: curvyness. i am extremely self conscious about my weight. I know i'm not fat, but its really hard for me to deal with it and i just feel so unattractive. but i know this is just my natural size. what do i do?
I think you should make a folder on your computer & start saving pictures of beautiful curvy women who inspire you & make you see how gorgeous the natural female body is. (Some favorites of mine include Quinne Suicide, April Flores, & Xelia - do a Flickr search for any of the above & you’ll see what I mean.)
Also, get rid of all your fashion magazines if you have them, stop buying them, & stop subscribing to any blogs that could be detrimental to your body image.
Know the facts: the average North American woman is a size 10 or 12, not 0 or 2. Not to mention, the vast majority of the population finds healthy-sized girls more attractive - that becomes clear if you watch any mainstream porn!
Do your makeup, get some new lingerie, anything you can do to make yourself feel pretty & sexy & feminine & awesome.
Stay active. Moving my body always makes me feel better about it. You don’t have to do anything super rigorous; I find yoga very relaxing & you can learn a sun salute in about 5 minutes if you don’t already know how to do it.
Oh, & get rid of any clothes you have that are too small for you. There is no point in keeping them around. Women who buy smaller clothes to “motivate” them to lose weight are kidding themselves. These things will just depress you, & will not flatter you if you attempt to wear them. Make sure that all your clothes fit well & are flattering, or you’re going to get stuck in the rut of self-hatred even more.
You are AWESOME & GORGEOUS! Seriously! It cannot be denied! Go & be your damn fine self, sista.
HAHAHA, that was so funny. Happened on the walk home from Fiddler… A guy of about 22 stopped me to ask me, innocently enough, if I knew where he might find the nearest bar. (He was with a buddy.) I pointed out the one a couple blocks down. Then this:
Him: What about you? Where are you going tonight? Me: Uh, home? Him (giving me that creeptastic up-&-down look): Why are you going home? Why don’t you come out with us? Me: …I’m SEVENTEEN. & I have a GIRLfriend. Thanks, though!
Then I walked away at top speed, & as soon as he was out of earshot, I laughed hysterically.
This doesn’t happen to me too often, but every time it does, I say “I have a girlfriend.” Only once in my life have I actually had a girlfriend when I said this… & now, whenever it happens, I remember how awesome it felt to be telling the truth for once, back then.
(At the time, my girlfriend’s response was as follows: “You should have told him I was a six-foot-tall, 275lb muscley dyke. With a skull tattoo. And a criminal record. And I was coming in a minute to meet you. With my vicious rottweiler.”)
We are doing a Harlequin Romance unit in my creative writing class. This is what I wrote today:
Oh, hello there. My name is Bentley Rydel. I live in the town of Wildervale, Arizona. I work on the cattle farm. It sure is hot out there in the fields. Sometimes I have to take off my shirt so’s I don’t sweat straight through it!
The cattle and me, we get along fine. I like to think I’m a pretty tender fella, real gentle an’ all that, so they don’t complain none when I have to touch their udders an’ all.
I live a pretty solitary life - jus’ me and my papa in that big ol’ farmhouse. He says one day I’ll find a real nice lady to settle down with, but I ain’t so sure. What respectable woman’d wanna marry a roughneck like me? I got a few dollars to my name, but that’s it. What’ve I got to offer a well-to-do filly?
I s’pose I’ve got my big lovin’ heart… and my gentle touch… and I sure could keep her warm at night.
Don’t get me wrong. No lady’ll join me in my bed til we’re good an’ married. It just ain’t right. Like my old man always says: why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free?
I hope my cow comes along real soon so I can buy her up real fast and get started drinkin’ that sweet, sweet milk…
my 6 year old sister is in love with your style. (also quite a few of your youtube videos. especially your tegan and sara covers) anyway! sometimes after she's done getting dressed she'll ask me "does this is look like kate sloan?" it's pretty adorable.
Oh my god, that is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. Give her a hug for me, mmkay?!
When you think about lesbian sex - and I am trying to be mature about it - you think of two beautiful creations engaging in the most sensual of arts; perfect curves and everything.
The intense energy and chemistry sparking like wildfire, when your desires just take over and you can’t do anything except hold each other close. Every move is finished with the caressing touch of a woman’s emotion and feeling, the most genuine, yet erotic feel.
Then, in one final moment, the voluptuous sensations hit their zenith, and you’re driven wild with the most innate of human instincts, pleasure. You feel your spine light up as a subtle tingling turns into a wonderful sensation that courses through your entire body, and in that final moment, one of the most beautiful things has been shared between two souls conjoined by one act, working in unison as one body.
Then it’s over, and you’re left staring into half of your soul. You feel nothing but the sublime ecstasy of assimilation through the oldest of the building-blocks of mankind - love.