Adulthood is like sunblock. It's just a thin veneer that needs to be reapplied every few hours, or when things get too hot. Too often we see people lose their cool, resorting to screaming and childish name calling as a solution to difficult or inconvenient situations. We're just big kids that outgrew our old clothes, professional impersonators doing the best we can to mimic maturity. This is why we jump at the chance to drink and shirk responsibility, to play. Alcohol is an excusable way to return briefly to easy adolescence. For some though, this becomes so routine an escape that it borders more on ritual than release. These are the people we shun and make examples of, the ones we tell to grow up. The true insidiousness of this is that we are asking them to do a thing that we can hardly do ourselves. Who doesn't want an extended recess? A warm snow day? Instead of empathizing, we deliver vicious rebukes and severe remonstrations under the guise of encouragement.
I've lost my train of thought.
...Bruce Jenner. Let's do it.
I got into a discussion yesterday with friends about varying levels of body dysmorphia. Let me preface this by saying I support the idea of helping people feel as comfortable as they can inside their bodies, and I think people who are opposed to this idea are very plainly, wrong. The lowest, and most common form of bodily dissatisfaction is probably feeling overweight. People grow resentful of their growing bodies and take action. They exercise and diet. They put in the effort to be the change they seek. No one would challenge this as acceptable. Step up to the next rung on the ladder and consider body parts that cannot be strengthened and toned; noses for example. I once dated a girl who'd gotten a nose job before I met her. It was with great hesitation and fear that she told me about her surgery. She seemed to still be harboring a bit of shame about it, even after many years. She showed me a photo of before and after. I would've been attracted to her whether she had the surgery or not, but admittedly, she did look better after the procedure. Body image is a strange thing. We watch women undergo plastic surgeries that transform them into hideous, life-sized blow up dolls; tits like balloons, comically swollen lips, ass implants, all to make them feel more comfortable in their skin. Whether or not they actually look better is an entirely different question. Just ask Michael Jackson. Which leads me to my next point.
There comes a time when a person is so altered, so heavily modified, that they begin to look freakish, almost monstrous. All those nose jobs eventually earned MJ the moniker, Wacko Jacko. Well, amongst other things. But in truth, who are we to judge what makes another feel beautiful? But we do judge. We do feel it's acceptable for slight tailoring - but less so for the more radical changes. The more invasive the change the more authoritatively we proclaim our opinions. Enter Mr. (Mrs.) Jenner. We need to weigh in. I mean, look at me. When sex is involved in any topic it quickly becomes sensationally salacious. We drool and get all wet just thinking about mouthing off our half-formed ideas about what's really best for old Brucey. I say, if he wants top lop off his cock and grow some titties, let him. The only people up in arms are the ones that think they might accidentally fuck him, or would have. It somehow throws into question the sexuality of the third party and the homophobes begin to rally. But fuck them. Fuck them with Bruce Jenner's severed dick.
The interesting bit, to me, is to scale up the stakes a little and see if Bruce's supporters deem the action perverse if we change it a smidgen. There are some people who feel uncomfortable in their bodies for reasons other than their nose, weight or genitalia. These people suffer from such extreme body dysmorphia that they would like to have a finger, a foot or a hand removed because, like Jenner, they don't identify with the biological card they were dealt. In the same way there is nothing wrong with Mr. Jenner's perfectly functional penis (believe me, I would know), these people want to throw away a perfectly good digit to feel at peace inside themselves. I say, who am I to judge? Who am I to deny a person an amputation? Really, I think it's much more serious to chop off a cock than a pinky. One is an organ, responsible for reproduction - the very propagation of your DNA - and the other is an almost useless finger or foot.
There are some who would argue that the person who wants a foot removal is mentally ill, and that the person who wants their balls pulled off is just expressing his feminine side. Because sexuality and its repression have been at the epicenter of freedom, liberty, and self expression, there are those who would fight staunchly to protect these freedoms. And rightly so. But once we apply the same logic to the nonsexual parts of the body, for some reason they do not dedicate the same resources to upholding those same protections. It's mind boggling.
Toe boggling, too.
No comments:
Post a Comment