Let's All Ruin Childhood

No, I'm not talking about "The Count Censored" (but if you're really in the mood to laugh your ass off at something you watched as a kid, feel free to YouTube that). I'm talking about Halloween.

When I was really little--I'm talking preschool here--I wasn't exactly a huge fan of Halloween. I didn't like trick-or-treating or answering the door because I was afraid of seeing a scary costume. Until I was fifteen I wouldn't trick-or-treat without my dad...and then I only stopped because I went to boarding school and HAD to celebrate Halloween without my dad. I've always been easily scared and trust me, that started early.

But there was one thing I really loved about Halloween, and that was the costumes. I love dressing up. Always have. And for a girl who wanted to be an actress, nothing was more alluring than the prospect of being someone else for a night. Once I got old enough to actually choose my own costumes, I never went for the obvious options. I don't think I ever went as a princess (though one year I did go as a bride)--I wanted to be original. I wanted to have fun. I couldn't just be a witch, I had to be Bellatrix Lestrange. I couldn't just be a fairy, I had to be Tinkerbell, complete with homemade magic wand. I couldn't just be a pirate, I had to be Anamaria (from Pirates of the Caribbean, for anyone who's confused).

My first time trick-or-treating I went as a cat. But not just any cat--a fuzzy pink cat, complete with ridiculously long tail and a hood with cute pink cat ears. And did I mention it was PINK? (Yes, I was a girly-girl. Still am.) There was nothing in the world more comfortable than that costume. And my mother made it--she made a lot of my costumes (cat, gypsy fortuneteller, Dorothy from Wizard of Oz). And when I was older she helped me make them, and helped me put together costumes that you could practically never find pre-packaged, at least not back then--Bellatrix Lestrange, female pirate, Milady de Winter from The Three Musketeers.

Halloween was a family affair back then, too. In fact, my dad would often get into costume with me. The year I was a bride, he threw on a suit and went as the groom. The year I was Christine, he willingly put on a mask and cape and went as the phantom. The year I was Anamaria, he went as Jack Sparrow. I have no doubt that if I'd gone through with my initial plan to be Sally the Rag Doll the year before I went to Interlochen, he'd have gladly been Jack Skellington. We'd even get into the act with music sometimes--the year we went as Phantom and Christine, I brought along a toy keyboard and played the opening notes of "The Phantom of the Opera;" the year we were pirates we sang "Yo Ho A Pirate's Life For Me" at every door.

And the older I got, the more excited I was about Halloween. I slowly learned to fear other trick-or-treaters less, and as I got braver I started to get bolder with my costumes. I think the last year I wore a "light" costume I was an angel. The very next year, I was a pirate. I learned to tap into my dark side a little. It wasn't like I suddenly started goring it up, but I liked stuff with a little more of an edge. (This was my Milady/Bellatrix/Joker phase.)

Here's the thing, though. When I did start going for stuff with more edge, more bite, it wasn't like I started dressing in progressively less clothing to achieve that "edge." I let my character choice--Bellatrix the Death Eater; Joker the Batman villain, Milady the murderess--dictate the edginess of my costume, rather than the amount of supposed sex appeal.

I won't lie--I've always been a skirts girl. I wear skirts at least three or four times a week. And I can count the number of times I've worn pants as part of my Halloween costume on one hand. But when I look back on the majority of the Halloween costumes I chose once I actually was old enough to choose, almost every single one centered around one theme: empowerment.

Think about it. For those of you who have read The Three Musketeers, is there any character in that book who defines "badassery" like Milady de Winter? Yes, she is one of the villains. Yes, she lies, cheats, steals, sedueces, and murders to get what she wants...but the point is that she isn't afraid to do what she has to do. In a time when women were expected to quietly submit to men, she adamantly refuses to do that. She relies on herself and her own talents to achieve her goals and rescue herself, as opposed to Constance (the other major female character), who consistently relies on D'artagnan to save her.

Think about Anamaria--she's the lone female pirate on a boat full of men. Think about Bellatrix--again, she's a villain, but you can't deny she's got serious balls. Think about the Joker--was there ever a better demonstration of How Not To Give A Flying Damn What Anyone Thinks of You?

Even if you go back further, before I went into my "BAMF costumes only" phase. Kay Thompson's Eloise--again, prime example of a character who stays true to herself. Tinker Bell--she has a rep as a Disney princess, but she's got serious attitude. Dorothy Gale, still my favorite costume to this day--she finds herself far from home and is willing to do whatever it takes to get back to her family. Even back then, it was all about strength. It was all about finding a way to say, "Screw you, scary people. I'm stronger than I look. I'm not afraid of you. And even if I am, I'll confront you anyway."

Now here's the difference between my childhood and that of any little girl growing up today. Let's take the Dorothy costume, because that was my favorite (you have no idea how often I wore that thing--before, during, and way after Halloween). I was almost six years old when I wore that costume for Halloween. It was 1998.

This is roughly what my costume looked like:

And THIS is roughly what it would look like if I decided to go as Dorothy today:

Already seeing a bit of an issue here? I am. I once had a Wizard of Oz figure skating costume that was more modest than that thing. (And for anyone who has ever seen a figure skating competition, you know that's saying something.)

But wait. It gets better.

THIS is a child's Dorothy costume that I found when I google-searched images of "child Dorothy costume"--I'm not kidding, this actually exists:

What. The. Hell.

Look, guys, I get the whole thing about slutty costumes

Okay, who am I kidding. I only vaguely understand the slutty costumes thing. The "sluttiest" costume I ever wore was when I went as Angelica Blackbeard last year--and even then I wore long sleeves and leggings under my already fairly-modest costume, because I just wasn't comfortable with walking down the street with my girl friends after dark wearing a skirt that short. (And, for the record, the skirt was definitely not as short as it could have been.)

Now, I will concede that the little girl's Dorothy costume is not as bad as it could be (read: not as bad as the teen girls' one). But think about this for a minute. How old could she possibly be? Ten? Twelve, at the oldest? When I was ten, or even twelve, if I'd tried to get away with that costume, my mom would have none of it. Because at the very heart of the matter, wearing those sexed-up versions of classic characters is about attracting a mate, showing off your body--and who in God's name needs to be doing that while trick-or-treating at age ten?

And to those of you who are reading this and screaming, BUT SEX APPEAL IS TOTALLY ABOUT EMPOWERMENT TOO--no. No, it is not. Not for most people, and certainly not for a fifth-grade girl. Empowerment is about self-confidence and inner strength. Sex appeal is about flaunting your attributes to a potential mate. Is there a point where the two go hand-in-hand? Absolutely; some people (myself included) find self-confidence extremely appealing.

But here's the thing: if that's the case, it's the self-confidence that makes the person in question sexy, and the two feed off each other and are mutually beneficial. On the other hand, if someone with low self-esteem puts on a sexy costume because they don't want to be the only one not wearing a sexy costume, that does not fuel their self-confidence; in many cases it actually lowers it. (Take it from a girl who once tried on a slutty Alice in Wonderland costume to appease her male friends--trust me, I know.) So, yes, sex appeal and self-confidence can be mutually inclusive. But one has to come before the other, and guess which one comes first?

And regardless of whether or not an adult over the age of consent knows how to tap into that power and use their self-confidence to their advantage, no little girl who hasn't even started her period yet should ever feel the pressure to do so.

I'm not trying to be holier-than-thou and I'm not trying to be a stick in the mud. I'm certainly not telling you how to dress for Halloween. If you want to be a sexy crayon, sexy Ghostbuster, sexy Freddy Krueger or hell, even sexy Nemo (though I shudder to think what mastermind came up with THAT idea), feel free. If it's really what you want, I won't judge. In fact, let's make a deal: I won't judge you for your sexed-up versions of my childhood heroes if you don't judge me for my Twisted Belle cosplay, okay?

(Yes, this is my Halloween costume this year. Yes, I'm making it myself. Yes, it is bloody difficult to find a non-slutty Belle costume that I can rip into a million pieces to mimic that costume.)

And I'll also confess that I caved and bought what some people may consider a sexy costume to wear to the Halloween dance, if only because I needed something to wear that 1) I could dance in and 2) wouldn't be tripping over all night. It's a candy-corn fairy witch, complete with stupid hat that won't stay on no matter how creatively I employ bobby pins, and a light-up tulle skirt. HOWEVER. In my defense, it does come down to my knees and COMPLETELY covers my chest. (I swear I'll post a picture--but in the meantime trust me, this costume covers everything that is supposed to be covered, which is certainly more than I can say for most of its fellow witch/fairy "teen" or "adult" costumes.)

But please, Halloween costume manufacturers, I beg you--make some non-sexy costumes for women. Please. It's not that hard. It only takes a few inches of fabric here and there. Make all the feminine-version Sherlock Holmes, Ghostbusters, Jokers, Freddy Kruegers, and Oscar the Grouches you want--but please, please, please stop making every single costume for not only adult women, but now also young girls, scream PLEASE FEEL ME UP.

And older girls, let me make a little proposition. Why don't we try to set a better example? I ask you, would little girls want to wear sexy costumes if it wasn't all they saw us wear? Maybe if we dress with just the tiniest bit more modesty on Halloween, they'll follow our example. Maybe if we demonstrate the difference between empowerment and exhibitionism, they'll grow up with the self-esteem that so many girls in today's world truly need.

Why I care

[Written in response to the people who can't understand why The Vagina Monologues means so much to me.

Dedicated to Eve Ensler, every woman and girl who has ever survived sexual assault, and those who support them, male and female.]


You Will Understand


If I have anything to say about it, yes, you will.
You will understand
that it does not take experiencing rape to hate it.
Why, you ask, do I care?
What is it that attracts me to V-Day
and similar, less-publicly-known causes?
You are human, you should know.
It is not fear, it is not trauma.

It is anger.

It is the stories I hear
that we all hear
from our mothers
and our best friends
and our girlfriends
our classmates, our friends
our aunts, cousins, sisters, grandmothers
our wives, lovers, teachers, even our enemies
all of them, the same thing:
Stories of survival.
It is almost impossible, these days
to meet someone who has not survived rape
or at least knows someone who has.
No, is not fear.
It is the fact, plain and simple
that at any minute, it could be me.
It is the knowledge that there are millions of women
who did not have someone to walk them home.
It is the presence of a new story every day,
either told by my friends
or seen on the news,
of a missing girl or a freshly-located body.
It is the tabloids that exploit those women
using the scandal of their demise to enhance sales.
It is the fashion magazines that prey on us,
the music videos that objectify us,
the celebrities who set impossible standards for us,
the songs that call us sluts,
the movies that make us cry.
It is the people who will call a girl a whore
because she was wearing a short skirt when she was raped.
It is the people in the world
who would see me walk down the street
minding my own business
holding hands with my girlfriend
and only stop themselves from shooting me
because it would land them in jail.
It is the knowledge that in my best friend's home country
women are raped daily for the crime of loving other women.
It is the knowledge that ex-gay conversion therapy exists.
It is the story of Brandon Teena, which always makes me cry.
It is the sight of a six-year-old girl in a halter top.
It is the sound of a teenage girl calling herself fat.
It is the fact that my mother
whenever I call her from the library at night
demands I ask my male best friend to walk me home.
It is the knowledge that she would not make me do this
if I were male and straight.
It is the controversy over abortion law.
It is the comments about "legitimate" rape.
It is the fact that women are taught
"Don't get raped"
because there are men out there
who were not taught, "Don't rape."

It is hope.

It is the knowledge that for every man out there
who would rape me quick as look at me,
there is another man, a friend,
who would walk me home to prevent exactly that.
It is the sound of a famous rapper
saying that women should be respected.
It is the sound of my girlfriend calling me beautiful.
It is me, in my backyard, with my dad
holding his hand as if I am a little girl
and hearing him say that he is proud of me.
It is my best friend telling me he would never hurt a woman.
It is forty women standing in a room, holding hands
waiting to go onstage
and tell the world how they feel about rape
and sexism
and homophobia
and suppresion.
It is those same forty women onstage
standing up to rape--literally.
It is the sound of a woman saying
"Stand up if you are committed to ending sexual violence"
and seeing the entire audience rise.
It is the feeling of my mentor's arms around me
as he tells me he is proud of me for taking a stand.
It is the knowledge that there are good men in the world.
It is the knowledge that there are girls who have sex
and know that it is perfectly okay to do so.
It is the choice I am allowed to make,
about where and when I lose my virginity.
It is my conviction that every woman should have that choice.

If you don't understand now, you never will.
No, I was never subjected to rape...
But what kind of person would I be
if I let that stand in the way of my hatred for it?

Starts with a C

This past week in Intro to Cinema class, we watched two classics virtually back-to-back: Citizen Kane and Casablanca. I'd seen both of them before. I'd never had the chance to critically analyze Casablanca before, but I'd definitely analyzed Citizen Kane (because pretty much the only time you ever watch that movie is when you're in a film class), and when it came time to submit the weekly film journal, I decided to compare the two. We saw the films a week apart, with plenty of discussion between the two screenings. This journal-style essay was the result.

I guess it goes without saying that as far as classics go, I find this much more enjoyable than Citizen Kane, mainly because I can watch this one without wanting to sock the main character in the face (sorry, Orson Welles). However, watching the two films virtually back-to-back (if you consider the fact that I didn’t watch any other movies between the two screenings “watching them back-to-back”) gave me new perspective on both films. I'm not saying Citizen Kane sucks--far from it--but I noticed things about both films that I hadn't thought of before.

First of all, the direction—and by extension the acting—seems much more refined in Casablanca. Not that the acting in Citizen Kane sucks, because there are some incredible performances Citizen Kane, but in some (and by some, I mean a lot) scenes, Orson Welles seems like a loose cannon, which can take away from the believability. I’d be inclined to think that this is mostly because the director of Casablanca wasn’t trying to play the lead role of the film as well. I know from experience that it’s difficult to direct and play a major character at the same time—not impossible by any stretch, but definitely a challenge, and not something that any sane person would recommend doing for a director’s first feature film.

In Casablanca, you identify with the characters. The Hollywood Production Code was clearly worried about that, because they insisted on the film ending with Ilsa going with her husband—but the audience can at least understand her motives, even if they don’t necessarily agree with her actions. Yes, she commits adultery, but at the time of her affair she doesn’t realize that she is cheating. Same for Rick—is it a slight shock when he shoots Major Strasser at the end? Yes, but he is doing it so two innocent people can escape to safety. Can we understand why Ilsa is torn between two men? I can. The film is set up in a way that allows us to feel sympathy for both her husband and her lover, without taking away the element of competition between the two men.

In class we discussed the idea of Welles being a “kid in a candy shop” on the set of Citizen Kane, a concept that is thrown into even sharper relief when compared to the subtlety of Casablanca. Last week in my journal, I talked about how the moods of the characters in Citizen Kane are demonstrated via dramatic lighting and cinematography. Casablanca, by contrast, does not rely exclusively on lights, sets, and camera angles to tell the story. Because the directing is more refined, the lighting can set the mood and then allow the characters to take over the scene, rather than being the driving force behind the scene.

I’m thinking of the scene where Ilsa explains herself to Rick and they make up. The lighting is immaculate—the room is dimly lit, clearly meant to be dark, but it’s not so dark or so heavily shadowed that you can’t see the actors’ faces during the emotionally tense scene. Same for the ending—it’s dark outside, it’s definitely nighttime, and it works for the tone of the scene because it’s definitely a bittersweet end, but the lighting is meant to highlight the performances rather than carry the entire scene. In some films, like Citizen Kane, the lighting is as much of a character as the actors, and in some films that works—but the lighting in Casablanca helps the actors subtly manipulate the audience’s emotions. Overall with Casablanca I get a sense of maturity and consistency. There is drama, but it doesn’t cross over into full-on melodrama, and I think that’s mainly because of the strong direction, strong performances, and subtly artistic lighting and camerawork.

When You Have the Chance

There is one basic fact that no one understands about photography (including amateur photographers *coughmecoughcough*): your first shot is never your best. Case in point: it took me over 24 hours just to sort and choose the photos for this blog post. Out of the 200 pictures I snagged at McDaniel College Advocacy Team's Night of Nets, only 72 were usable. Out of those, I chose the final 20, a.k.a. the ones I'm posting here. I was there from 8:30 to 11:30 PM, so it took three hours to get 20 photos. But I'm not complaining, because Night of Nets is an amazing cause, and anytime Mara (leader of McDaniel Advocacy Team) asks me to do something, I will do it. I don't care what part of my schedule I have to rearrange. I don't care what I have to miss. If she needs me, I will there.

Simply put, Night of Nets is about malaria. The main purposes are to raise money for bed nets and raise awareness about malaria. Participants sleep outside in tents all night, make t-shirts, give donations to organizations that distribute malaria treatment to the most-affected locations, paint and draw malaria-related posters, and write postcards to spread awareness of malaria. Advocacy Team does this every year. Last year (my freshman year) I was a lot more involved. This year, I couldn't be as involved in preparation (thank you, Allies Affinity House and peer mentor job), but Mara asked me if I wouldn't mind coming out and taking some photos on the big night. And like I said, I can never say no to Mara.

The full photoset will be up on Flickr and Facebook by Monday, but I wanted to post a preview here first. I love these pictures, not because they're mind-blowingly good (they're not--I still have a lot to learn about night photography), but because I love Night of Nets and I love that Mara let me be a part of it again. I can't be in Advocacy Team this semester thanks to a class at the exact same time as the meetings, but that doesn't mean I can't stay involved. And believe me, I will do anything I can to stay involved in something as amazing as Advocacy Team.



The highlights of Night of Nets 2012:

The Pants Mission

Ten Things To Say In A Clothing Store If You Want To Make The Sales Clerk Laugh Her Ass Off:

1) "Can you help me? I don't wear pants very often."

2) "Pants confuse me. I think they do it on purpose. They smell my fear."

3) "I think I might be allergic to pants...is that medically possible?"

4) "I like these pants. They don't look like they were just snatched from a band of angry narwhals."

5) "Oh my God, I found the Holy Grail of pants!"

6) "I can't wear skinny pants. I look like I've just been stepped on."

7) "Is it okay for leprechauns to wear bootcut pants?"

8) "I've never bought my own pants before...wait, that came out wrong."

9) "Oh my God, I did the impossible...I FOUND COMFORTABLE PANTS."

10) "I do stupid things when I'm in love...like voluntarily buy pants."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yes. I said all of these today. It actually happened.

Lovebird, this is what I go through for you. Are you happy now? You have successfully pants-ified me.

P.S. Damn right I love you...I wouldn't go through the Pants Mission for anyone else.

The Lucky One

So much has happened in these last few weeks I can't even begin to describe it all. I've gone back to college and moved in with six incredible young women who make my life complete (and completely insane). I've grown up so much since my summer at Interlochen. When things happen this fast there really isn't much you can do except grab onto something, hold tight, and wait for the ride to end so you can pull yourself together.

I had ten days to be ready to go back to college, followed by an insane two weeks of peer mentor training and orientation. The semester was off to an insane start: the drama commenced before we'd even finished moving in. For the first two weeks I was scared, vulnerable and unfocused. I poured my nervous energy into my mentees. You know how it is when you can't get away from drama--especially when it's not just your own, but everyone else's, because you're so involved with your friends that their shit follows you around too? Yeah. That. That's how it felt.

And then, last Friday night, the unthinkable happened.

I am in a relationship.

I have a girlfriend. I am someone's girlfriend. I like someone, and she likes me back.

I was not expecting this. I didn't know it was coming, but apparently all my friends could see it coming a mile away, because there was practically a full-blown conspiracy to set us up. (Actually, my house leader jokingly promised me a party if I got away from my destructive former crush and dated this girl.) I didn't even realize I had feelings for her until someone pointed it out to me. Only then did I realize what an idiot I was, not to see something that was pretty much staring me in the face.

It takes me a long time to fall for someone. When I have a crush it's instantaneous, it's that instant jolt of physical or mental attraction. When I am in love it's slow-building, it takes me a long time to realize, wait a minute, I actually care about this person in a different way...WHOA...where'd that come from? And then it takes me even longer to get used to it enough to do anything about it. My friends forced me to speed up that procedure and I'm so glad they did. Because I am happier than I've been for a long time...and it's because of her.

I wrote on my Tumblr the day after we got together, Am I allowed to look at other people? Are other people allowed to look at me? I think I’ve gone through life with this idea that as soon as I was taken, people would stop looking at me. Then I realized, well, no one ever really checks me out anyway. Now, maybe it’s because she has only recently managed to convince me that I’m not hideously unattractive, but suddenly, looks that I usually would interpret as “you must be crazy” I am suddenly interpreting as “hmm, I’d scoop that.” Is this wrong of me? Am I crazy, or is this really happening?

She calls me beautiful. She calls me sweetheart. I wrote her a love letter, and she told me I have pretty handwriting (she’s wrong, but I didn’t tell her that). And every time she pushes my hair out of my eyes, or rests her forehead against mine, or kisses the back of my hand or the base of my neck or whatever part of me happens to be within kissing range, a little electric shock runs through me. How long am I allowed to be ridiculously, insanely happy about this? Is there an expiration date, or will I go through the rest of my life giggling like an idiot whenever someone mentions her name?

I wish I had the answers to my billion-and-one questions--but I clearly don't. Here is what I know: after a freaking scary start, my sophomore year is finally starting to click. And I know why. And I'm going to hold onto that.

Come at me, McDaniel. I have a new partner-in-crime.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Most of my photography as of late has been focused on learning to take pictures "in the moment" rather than spending a ton of time trying to set up each shot. This meant learning to take better pictures of humans (one of the aspects I still struggle with) as well. Most of these are from my summer job at Interlochen Center for the Arts--but a few are from college and home as well. Take a look:

I refuse, I refuse, I refuse

So, less than twenty-four hours later...yeah, I kind of like to work fast with this sort of thing...I've started a petition politely requesting that the MPAA wise up.

Here's the thing: I've been talking to people about this. We've assembled a team and we're going to do something about it. We will be Hipster Activists no longer.

You know what I mean about hipster activism, right? I mean that people sit around on Facebook and complain about how awful the media is and how awful the government is. And, okay, in some cases, they have a point. But here's the thing: I don't want to just sit here and whine about how awful it is that violene in films is totally acceptable, while lovemaking is considered "the devil."

Now, I am not saying that we should go back to the Production Code days. But I do think they were on to something when they made a stipulation that murder and rape scenes should be essential to the plot and should happen largely off-camera. Because it just blows my mind that violence against women--which is so often used as a plot device in films even now, when the "damsel in distress" archetype has been challenged over and over--is allowed to slip through into PG-13 and R films, which are marketed in the mainstream media and are given TV spots and advertising budgets. BUT. When a statement is made about it, or it is used in a realistic context, such as in Boys Don't Cry? It's slapped with an NC-17. And they go on and on about the violence, but the truth of it is, they're squicked out by the (non-explicit, very poigniant) sex scenes between a girl and a transgender boy. That's the bottom line.

And for those of you sitting there yelling, "You hypocrite, you slam violence in films but you gush about A Clockwork Orange on a daily basis!"--let me point out here, when that movie was withdrawn in the UK, it was withdrawn for violence. Not for the far-away, sped-up threesome sex scene, which surely would have gotten it banned in America. But for the violence. Also--much of the violence is implied in that film, as well. Think about it: During the rape scene, you do not actually see Alex rape the woman. They cut away before it happens. In the scene where he kills the woman with the statue--you do not actually see her die.

Murder and rape: only used when essential to the plot, done mostly off-camera.

Here's what you can do. Sign the petition. Watch Merchants of Cool. Watch This Film is Not Yet Rated.

If you want to help, that is. Remember: This is all my opinion. Educated and informed opinion, yes, but opinion nonetheless. I'm not trying to force anyone to think the way I think. I just want to help.