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I am running out of pictures of my cosplay! HELP! (also ... alien! RUN!)
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A WEEKEND AS A GIRL (Part four)
A CRUCIAL INTERJECTION!
(Yay, a filler episode)
Despite all the love, it feels like my experiment is losing support by the second, so I chose to deviate from my intended introduction of part four completely, and instead address something that seems to be a massive concern for a lot of people. When I started this review, and upon posting this blog to a potent Facebook group called Sweden Cosplay, I stressed the fact that I'm writing it one piece at the time, and that one shouldn't think you have the whole story before I'm finished.
I am hurting. Because it doesn't feel like people respected this very important part in my presentation of the blog, and in so doing, didn't show my project the respect that I think it deserves. You don't start reading a book, but just because one character says something you don't like, you assume that the rest of the book is going to be written according to that character's flawed point of view. You NEED to see each entry into this review as a piece of a larger picture, a currently incomplete picture, because in not doing so, you're not only hurting my ability to tell you about the weekend, but also your ability to properly listen. You don't look at an incomplete creation of Mona Lisa and go "It's ugly, she doesn't have a nose."
Do you know the formula of almost every joke ever? "La ta di! La di da? TA DA!" It's the delivery of the punchline. A book has its climax, a joke has its punchline, and a review has its ending. You're only half way through, and some of you have already made up your mind about where I'm going with this. Judging by the things I've read some of you say, and from what some of you have sent me in private messages on Facebook, one thing has become clear to me: You aren't giving me a fighting chance. You chop my head off before I have a chance to say my final word.
A precious friend of mine and her friend in combination wrote something that inspired me to shuffle my cards a bit, and present something I intended to save for the end right right now instead. I honestly believed that everyone would give my blog at least until the end, but it was foolish of me to assume that I'd be able to keep the attention of everyone all the way until the big climax,
WHY DID I NAME MY REVIEW "A WEEKEND AS A GIRL"?
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I was originally going to be a lot more silly as Celty.
But Celty isn't silly. She's a dork, but not silly.
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Because that's what it was. A WEEKEND as a girl. The friend of my friend wrote something that touched me, and instead of paraphrasing, I'm going to copy it: "But I worry that saying things like 'I was objectified, and I didn't hate it' will do more harm than good." This is not the first person to remark on exactly that line, and I'm going to be brutally honest with you (Because why stop now?): I chose those words on purpose. What was this weekend? A second of the hour that is my life. It was gone in a heartbeat, and I have no delusions that a weekend is sufficient to get a fair idea of what life is truly like for a woman.
I'm not going to put any more focus into what others have said about my blog, and instead get right into what I intended for this topic to address: The choice of review name, and the grand scheme of things.
Did I have a blast this weekend? Yes, I did. Did I like the way a lot of people looked at me? Yes. The thing is though, it was but a fraction of my lifetime. I loved it because it was fresh, because it was new. It hasn't happened to me before, and it carried me on wings. But what is just one weekend? It's nothing. Or, that is what I'm supposed to say. But I can't stomach leaving it at that, because it honestly wasn't JUST a weekend. This weekend meant the world to me, and nothing is going to change that. But why did it mean so much? Because people looked at me? No. Because I get to put things in perspective. Did you pay attention to what I wrote in part three? Do you remember how those girls made me feel? Consider this: I was only a girl for a weekend. And I'm not actually even a girl. I had the time of my life, and I felt breathtakingly sexy for once in my life. And they ruined it for me with a few words, or just a look.
I don't think a lot of people can appreciate just how hard a blow this is to everything I've said. To all my praise, to all my 'more harm than good' truths. Do you realize how powerful something has to be, to push someone having the time of their life to wanting to go home? WITH A LOOK! It didn't take me more than minutes to feel like a beautiful woman after having put on the costume, to get engulfed in the life I had chosen for a weekend, and it was shattered that easily.
Now let's take it into perspective: Multiply this weekend with ... oh I don't know ... a lifetime? I honestly wish I was writing this last, because there were things I wanted to address before it, but same as with cosplaying and rather being an entertainer than true to character, I'm going to bring comfort at the cost of synergy. So here it is: I told you a while back that we get used to all the good things in life. That we take them for granted. You don't remember the person holding a door open for you, and you don't remember the one that chased after your cork that you accidentally kicked when it dropped to the ground. The same is true with beauty, and the rush of being considered beautiful.
When you spend a life as someone, you won't get high as easily on a simple compliment, and you'll see the darkness far more clearly. In writing this blog, I've been accused of being short sighted, and it pains me that some don't think I've thought further ahead than what the weekend made me feel. I have thought about A LOT of things. It's something I do, something my close friends are painfully aware of. I spend an unhealthy amount of time thinking. This is why I thought I was perfect for this experiment, and why I still think I'm perfect for it. I have the mental fortitude not to speak for a whole weekend, and when someone else might get distracted by a sweet compliment, I break it down to its base elements.
I liked the attention, but I don't get it every day! I don't ever get it! In the weeks nearing the convention, I did a lot to my appearance. On the convention, I even had a friend pluck at my eyebrows. A friend put makeup on me, just in case I removed the helmet. I thought I looked like a totally different person, but when I showed some of my friends, I actually had to ask them what they thought. Now this isn't in any way criticism against my friends, but it does highlight a part of life: What does a guy have to do to in order for someone to tell him he's beautiful? You aren't expected to give a guy a compliment for his appearance, it's not part of the human routine.
Want to know what IS part of the routine? Worship of the female body. The "ideal" female body. How deranged isn't that, if you think about it? The contrast makes me a sad Celty. What's worse, is that if I had been 20 kilos heavier, the amount of pictures taken of me would've drastically reduced. Reality is a stinker, and wow does it smell! Don't see this weekend as me having had the time of my life. See it as evidence of just how much that is wrong with our world right now.
But don't ever forget the silver lining: I love you. Now you might not know me, and I in turn might not know you, and therefore might think that my words hold no meaning, but they do. You have the power to choose that they don't mean anything, and you wield that power so often! I do it all the time. I often forget the beauty of our world, in light of the horrors. The beauty standard of women is a horrible thing, and it's important to fight until our dying breaths to rid ourselves of the intensive bullying that we're frequently exposed to in society, men and women alike ... but also ... put some thought into what you're doing during this fight.
Some people have already made me hesitate to ever go as Celty again, and why? Because I'm being made to feel like I'm ruining the campaign against sexism, simply because I put some breasts in and add a bit of hip. That body you saw at the convention, it's still primarily me! In your fight against sexism, be careful. Win the war, but not at the expense of other women. Remember that look of death I mentioned that I got from some? Remember that there are women that would've looked like I did, without adding anything. Women, don't target your own! Those girls didn't know I was a man, and they gave me a look that made me feel like I set women back twenty years, for simply imagining a female version of my male self.
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This picture felt like a good idea at the time, but ...
Celty isn't a hater. And she wouldn't do this!
She doesn't hate.
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PAINFUL TRUTH vs CAREFUL CODDLING
A bit earlier in this entry, I said that I chose the words on purpose: "I was objectified, and I didn't hate it." That brings us to the next topic:
It was meant to cause reactions. I wanted you to think about what I said. I ask a lot of questions in these entries, often shortly followed by answering them, but I still write something as a question. Why? Because suspense is an art. It's a craft. And when I'm splitting a review into this many pieces, I need to raise questions, I need to be entertaining, and I need to trigger a stagger from time to time. I need you to come back, and not because of loyalty to me, but because you might be curious about the end. If I don't rattle the cage of controversy, there's nothing differing this review from what someone else might have done.
Thing is, I could sugarcoat everything. I could hold back. I could tell you that I did hate being objectified, but what would that do to the discussion? To my review? It would make it a partial truth, and what desire would you have to trust a partial truth? I took a HUGE risk writing that, but I wrote it anyway, because it's the truth. You want to know the insight of a man inside a woman's body for a weekend? You get it. You don't read a review named "A weekend as a girl" without getting the thoughts that came with that weekend. You don't open this blog up, expecting me to say "Day 1: I was a girl. I didn't like it." and then wrap it up with yet another talk about how black and white the discussion is. You know the types: "Men are pigs.", "How can she dress like that? Doesn't she get how much hard work we put into this struggle?", "Look at that stick. Why not add some meat to those bones?"
I know this is going to upset people. I know it's going to be painful for some to read. I know this blog will give me enemies within the cosplay community. I knew this, and I wrote it anyway! I even posted it in the Facebook group, knowing what sort of comments I would get. I knew some wouldn't agree with me, and I knew some would start writing harsh things without even waiting for it to end. I knew people would ignore "Take in consideration that the review isn't finished yet.", I knew they wouldn't be able to keep themselves from posting angry posts, about things I had decided long ago that I would address. Before the weekend even started. And despite this, it took me until the fourth part to deviate from my intended structure of the story at all, but it's now done.
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Do you have any idea how difficult it is to take a good selfie as Celty?
Have you seen the size of that helmet?
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Why am I telling you all of this? Because I want to offer you the same perspective that the costume offered me. I want you to know the truth. I could make you like me, I could tell you what most would expect this review to say, but that wouldn't be fair. I much rather give you perspective, than make you like me. I didn't do this experiment to be liked, and the fact that I've received as much love as I have, actually surprised me. I thought the moment I revealed that I was actually male, that people would get upset. That they would feel deceived. Tricked. I thought that people would get angry, and disappointed, and I STILL posted this! My point is that I could've handled this whole topic in a hundred different ways, most of which would've spared some people pain that my review has inflicted, but would that really be nice?
Am I kind for telling you what you want to hear? Am I supposed to keep the truth in, just to make sure I don't step on your toes? Can you honestly say that me not telling you that I didn't mind being objectified, would've made this review better? What good would have come out of me lying to you about that? How disrespectful wouldn't I have been towards this whole experiment, if I ignored one of the biggest discoveries this experiment unveiled? And how much damage wouldn't I have done to my perspective, and to myself, if I chose to ignore this feeling? In realizing this sensation, I grew as a person. I realized something about myself, and about the world. I realized the cleft that exists between a male going to a convention, and a female. We're two extremes, so far apart from each other that we might as well be from different plants. I feel so unappreciated as a man, that objectification felt good! And women feel so exposed by the eyes of society, that they feel like their every step has an impact on the way someone sees them.
A SCARY STORY
I wrote in my previous entry that I considered writing about what I experienced outside of the convention as well, and I intend to. But I want to devote much of an entry for that purpose, so I'm just going to share one story with you for now. And that was on my way home at the end of the second day, Saturday. To avoid any confusion, I'm outright telling you that I didn't change at the convention. None of the days. I traveled to, and from the convention in costume. Helmet on. I figured, why restrict the experiment to the convention?
Some of you worry that I didn't realize the severity of life as a woman, and you couldn't be more wrong. Me and two friends stepped onto the train that would take me a good distance on my way home (I'd have to make one more switch), and of course heads turned. It wasn't a surprise, they did so all the time, but there was an atmosphere to these heads that didn't feel quite right. A group of men, perhaps six of them rode the train together, and had enjoyed more than one beer that night. My friends sat down, and I remained standing. I was waved over by these men that had noticed me, and didn't have the gut to ignore them. I moved over, and they started talking to me. I of course stayed true to character and didn't speak. They took a couple of pictures, laughed, and spoke in a foreign language during all of this. And they weren't ashamed of where their eyes wandered.
The intensity faded as they sat down again after the photographs, and I retreated to where my friends sat. Still stood, because I knew that once I sat down, I wouldn't want to get up again. I was so tired. Anyway, the stop one of my friends was waiting for came up, and he stepped off. As he did this, one of these men walked up to me, put his arm around me, and spoke. Try as I might, I can not remember what he said, but I have rarely been more scared in my life. Any time I try to think of what he said, I blank out. I can't remember a single word. And it wasn't even malicious. I remember him inviting me to go with him and his friends, but not much beyond that. The way he said it, the way they had looked at me ... there was no way I would have rode that train to the end. Because I'd have to part ways with my second friend at one point, and would've been alone. One single thought kept bombarding my head: What if these men step off on the same station as me? What if these men aren't good men?
As the doors were about to close, I slipped out of his presence and exited the train. My friend gladly welcomed the company, and I joined him for his long walk, sadly deserting my other friend on the train. I checked on him when I got home, and he'd gotten home without a hitch. That evening however, was one of few nights in my life, that I genuinely worried I might not have gotten home.
END OF PART FOUR!
I am going to end part four with this story, because not every story should end with a positive spin. Tune back in tomorrow, and I will get into much of what I promised I would discuss during the end of part three.Thank you for reading!
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