“Our talents are the gift that God gives to us. What we make of our talents is our gift back to God… To love oneself is to struggle to rediscover and maintain your uniqueness.”
A photographer recently asked me to model for him. We discussed covering a variety of concepts, but the first one he wanted to shoot - described in his own words - was a “portrait with an object that gives you either a good or bad emotional reaction”. He explained that this is what he does every time he works with a model for the first time, and prior to exploring any other concepts. As this was infrared shoot, letters and photos tend not to work. He mentioned that, in the past, people have brought jewelry, weapons, sex toys, books, a bicycle, skulls, instruments, etc. No matter what the object was, it needed to work for a portrait. After thinking about this long and hard, I have decided to bring my, recently acquired, Dr. Martens boots.
I have gotten my first Doc Martens shoes in high school. They weren’t boots, but shoes - dark brown leather, low top, with a bulky heavy toe tip. At the time, they were a statement. Well, let me correct myself here - they (still) are a statement. Like many of us, I was confused about who I was in high school. I didn’t really belong in the group of popular (mostly wealthy) kids, although I was for a brief moment part of that group. I wasn't super pretty, sexy girl who dated older wealthy men and wore seductive and revealing clothes. Although I was a good student, and was attending a high school known for its notoriously challenging program - I wasn't super smart nor extraordinary gifted one. I had a small group of friends with whom I shared a close bond, some fun but not so scandalous moments, and could always rely on for support. I also had many acquaintances with whom I would go out sometimes, meet for a coffee or occasionally chat about mundane stuff. And, still - when on my own - I didn’t feel like I belong anywhere.
I went to my first live concert in June 1996 - Red Hot Chili Peppers in Budapest, Hungary. It was two days before my seventeenth birthday. On that trip I have gotten my first tattoo (of course it was a black tribal shape!) and my Doc Martens shoes. It was such a symbolic gesture (one of many) - somewhat adult but not really - unquestionably teenage-like, rebellious, freedom-seeking, and certainly fuck-you-I-won’t-do-what-you-tell-me gesture. Those shoes held such power for me. All of a sudden I didn’t care that I didn’t belong to a group (funny enough, I was - I belonged in a group of those who own Doc Martens!). I somehow was a badass, regardless. Maybe even despite of it. At the time I didn’t know that I didn’t have to belong to a group in order to be fully me. I didn’t know that I am a badass anyways. I believed I needed something - other than myself - to define me and add value to me; which also explains why I often felt like an imposted wearing those shoes, as if I didn’t deserve them. In my mind, I definitely wasn’t mainstream, and yet I wasn’t quite hard-core enough.
You see, most of my youth, as well as, young adult life I wanted to be older. As an only child, I received a lot of (mostly unwanted) attention from my family. I often found other peoples’ looks, questions, concerns, doubts and comments - even the positive ones - suffocating and bothersome. I have always had very tight relationship with my parents (on the surface), but I always wanted freedom and independence from them as well, ever since a very young age. Being attached to my parents often made me feel like a little naive girl. I wanted to break free and on my own very early. I could not stand being told that I am “nice”, “cute”, and “sweet”. I would associate these words with naive, silly, innocent, stupid, sensitive, and emotional - definitely patronizing. At the same time, I have always had a different side of me - darker, wild, untamed, one that was adventurous, often even reckless, and certainly out for new experiences (this side is still very much present). In order to be left alone by my family and teachers, I have kept good grades. However, in my free time I would let my “bad girl” out. She would smoke, drink, hang out with the kids who stole and did drugs; she would have boyfriends and make out with different guys (and sometimes girls), and she would not come home till late. This persona, however, didn’t really fully sit with me either. I felt as if I am not fully embodying this part of me, but rather pretending and playing the role. I often felt like an imposter; afraid that those truly “hard-core kids” would see through me.
“The easiest thing to be in the world is you. The most difficult thing to be is what other people want you to be. Don't let them put you in that position.” ~ Leo Buscaglia
Last year I bought my second pair of Doc Martens - this time, boots. Laces, platform, black, and of course, with a usual touch - made of velvet. Oh how happy I was when I got them. This time I needed something that will represent me within a queer and kink/BDSM community. Of course, most people in that community choose leather boots, as leather and BDSM have a wide area of intersectionality. And, yet, I chose velvet. They needed to be unique and different in a way; but, also, I just didn’t want leather boots.
Interestingly, I am often facing the same conundrum I faced as a teenager - at times, I feel that I don’t deserve my Doc Martens, that I don’t deserve my spot in the community. Again, I am not hard-core enough, not queer enough, not kinky enough, not badass enough... Other times, however, I feel like an action hero - a wonder woman - when I am wearing them. They give me super powers. They make me super special, and strong, and powerful and invincible. It’s fascinating - this state of tension, of conflicting emotions, thoughts, memories and sensations - around fucking boots! (if only it would be about the boots…) You see now why I chose them as an object for my portrait…
Just like in my high school years, these days I also struggle with belonging from time to time - a lot less than before, but it still happens. And, let’s not forget (nor judge or criticize) how human this is. No one in the community ever mentioned anything to me; and they don’t have to - I am telling it to myself!
You’re too ordinary and not kinky enough.
You look too classy and unassuming in order to be slutty.
Your kinks are mediocre and not wild enough.
You need to be more hard-core.
Sure, you are a masochist, but there are so many more heavier painsluts out there.
You’ll be seen eventually for who you are, and no one will want to play with you then…
Deep down I know these things aren’t true. I know it for a fact. And, at the same time, these are my deepest fears and insecurities that from time to time bubble up to the surface. And, when that happens, I need to create space for them, and let them be, as there are so many aspects of me that want to coexist together.
During my recent visit to Los Angeles, I was gifted a new play partner. I was drawn to him right away, mostly for his energy - so bright and larger than life, with just a perfect amount of darkness. So captivating and mysterious… He arrived seemingly out of nowhere - bold, commanding (even when not speaking), and just utterly enchanting. His confidence - intoxicating. And his magnetism beyond anything I have encountered in a very long time. He honestly is one of the most beautiful humans I have ever seen - a god-like creature (at least a demigod!)… a King… a hunter…
Our connection - super intense and thrilling. Primal play - animalistic and raw - a hunter going after his pray, a D/s dynamic, with a vigorous physicality, biting, scratching, expressing ourselves freely and without words… A mixture of feelings of vulnerability, fear, exhilaration, and empowerment. And when the play is over, tenderness follows… cuddling, holding, sweet kisses, full attunement. Intensity like this needs to be followed by the attunement in order for trust to be built, in order for one to be seen and truly acknowledged. True connection is about tuning in.
And, so, in one of those deeply intimate aftercare moments, where both of us are naked, sweaty, sticky, and exhausted, lying in bed fully exposed, with our limbs intertwined - he looks straight into my eyes and says: “you’re adorable”. I look at him with my eyes wide open and with a kind of confused and surprised look. I can feel my body contracting, and pulling back. The connection feels instantly broken. Something blocks me, my body. I feel a rush of heat in my face and my head, and I somehow feel a need to defend myself and explain, to justify things (though I don’t really know what).
I cannot be seen as adorable.
I am not adorable. Do people really experience me as adorable?!
I need to be seen as strong, sexy, badass, powerful, seductive, mysterious… everything, but adorable!
I soon become aware that it is shame that I am feeling; shame and embarrassment. Shame associated with the fact that he saw me in a way that I actually don’t deserve to be seen. It’s also just being so vulnerable and raw in that moment, while being fully seen like that - and not wanting to allow for that. And embarrassment around being seen as adorable and my own inner conception of my persona (which cannot possibly be adorable).
Merriam-Webster dictionary defines adorable as “extremely charming or appealing, worthy of adoration or veneration”. All very positive, empowering, endearing and flattering adjectives, right!? Why is it then that many of us (me included) loathe and are repulsed when being described by this adjective, this quality? I never stopped and thought deeper about that word; I would always get a strong bodily reaction to hearing it and that’s where it would end for me. It wasn’t clear to me in that moment what this was about. I needed to digest it.
Soon after, when the photoshoot was about to happen, it came to me - I tend to struggle with self-value and worth, and I often believe that I am unlovable the way I am. If only I was different - then it would be a different story. But I am not. I also have had a preconceived notion that the word “adorable” is associated with being weak, girlie, sweet, gentle… all those things I didn’t think can be positive and can actually be applied to me. Shame kicked in; a strong discomfort about being called something (only I tend to believe) I am not.
I don’t know what other people associate the adjective adorable with. I never asked. But, for me personally, in that moment, it was associated with being sensitive, feminine, cute, sweet, innocent… And I felt uncomfortable being perceived that way. I felt uncomfortable being vulnerable. I wanted to be perceived (by him) as sexy, strong, powerful, mysterious, wild… And, in my mind, I could’ve not possibly hold all of these qualities, but only some of them. What I was thinking is that cute, lovely and lovable cannot possibly coexist with mysterious, slutty and sexy. But guess what? They can. And they do.
I am a human, having a human experience and human emotions, and it is often messy, and almost always unorganized and surprising, and I cannot predict it nor control it, and that’s exactly the way it should be. I was embarrassed about my own vulnerability. Embarrassed about being sensitive and emotional. Embarrassed about being so raw, exposed and open… about liking him so much after knowing him so little.
As far as he’s concerned - he’s proven to be a kindred spirit. And these, as we all know, make themselves known largely by how rarely they appear. What we also know about them is that they tend to stay for a brief moment, shake the shit out of the ground under our feet, take us fully out of our comfort zone, often deeply affect us and change us - and, then, they’re gone. And, we are different.
I do wish we stick around longer than I expect.
“The majority of us lead quiet, unheralded lives as we pass through this world. There will most likely be no ticker-tape parades for us, no monuments created in our honor. But that does not lessen our possible impact, for there are scores of people waiting for someone just like us to come along; people who will appreciate our compassion, our unique talents. Someone who will live a happier life merely because we took the time to share what we had to give. Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have a potential to turn a life around. It’s overwhelming to consider the continuous opportunities there are to make our love felt.” ~ Leo Buscaglia
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Until we meet again,
Marina
Adorable has turned into a childish word. To be adored means you are a goddess-clearly!
This is wonderful and moving