I spent the day doing a photo-shoot around NYC. It was a
hard day’s work, and I came home exhausted, thinking – why am I doing this? No,
it’s not my job, no, I don’t get paid for this, nor is this something I have to
do to further my career – I am just helping out a friend, who’s putting
together a portfolio. Posing in public turns me shy, and then there is the
hassle of dealing with security guards, who for some reason don’t want to allow
photo shoots in their buildings without a ton of paperwork and proper
negotiations. More than that, watching the preliminary results of the shoot –
scrolling through the hundreds of photos and seeing all the unflattering poses
and silly faces I make when I think I’m looking sexy – can be absolutely
demoralizing. And then, there is the nagging question of whether what I am
doing is somehow shameful, since my upbringing (that I can’t completely
override, no matter how long and hard I try) has taught me that exhibitionism
is shallow and inappropriate, and good girls don’t present their bodies to a gawking public. Feminism and dreams of objectification
do not usually get along.
But I am an exhibitionist slut and this is what I NEED to feed
my lust. (I wonder, has anyone noticed that slut is an anagram for lust?) In
any case, tiresome and disconcerting as it may be, today was pure pleasure for
my starving attention whore.
The photographer was totally self-assured and easy-going, and
while I was shy at first to really let loose and shed my inhibitions in public,
his matter-of-fact attitude and smooth way of charming security guards and nosy
passerby finally got me in the right mindset. There’s something about watching
a confident man get into trouble and just as easily get out of it, handle
uncomfortable moments and not sweat, that makes me feel safe and less embarrassed
of what I am doing. And once we both relaxed and got a fun banter going, the
rest was easy, and I was able to really start enjoying the experience. He made
me feel like a super star, encouraging me to flirt, look sexy, pose in
provocative ways and show off my body.
I also realized that having an audience makes a difference.
I am used to having the attention of large groups of people – I have enough
experience in public speaking, and I know that the bigger the audience, the
better I usually do. But it’s one thing to receive that attention in my
professional capacity, with years of experience and a degree of confidence in
what I am doing, and totally another to have my body stared at – my body, with
all its flaws and imperfections, and all the little things that drive me crazy.
I am not a professional model by any stretch of an imagination, and while I’d
like to think that a few beautiful photos will come out of this photoshoot, I
realize that the majority of time posing there in front of a camera I probably
looked clumsy, silly, and pretentious. So I couldn’t even imagine what an ego
boost it would give me, to have so many people believe I was a model, and to be
able to overcome my inherent shyness, forget my doubts, and just… pose away. As for my feminist side -- as long as I am confident in myself as a human being, as long as I believe in the capabilities of my mind and know that I have plenty to be respected for as an individual, as long as I have agency to make my own choices, I know I am not at object -- so why should I care if anyone sees me as one?
I came home tired… but also smiling and filled with
confidence. This mood may not last long, but I had a chance to live what I
teach – there’s nothing wrong in wanting to be objectified. There’s nothing
shameful or anti-feminist about being an exhibitionist.
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