TH E PO BOD SI Y ISS TIVE UE
IN A SYSTEM THAT CAPITALIZES OFF OF OUR INSECURITIES, IT’S A RADICAL ACT TO LOVE YOURSELF. Quote inspired by Caroline Caldwell
THE SIREN THE FEMINIST MAGAZINE OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OREGON
Letter from the Editor Body positivity is about radically loving yourself. Radical can be defined as acting different from the usual or traditional. Other words like radical are uncompromising, rebellious, nonconforming and original. Being body positive is about unlearning insecurites that are placed upon us to have an “ideal” body. We have to work hard to love ourselves when traditional expectations of “ideal” are constantly pressuring us. Radically loving ourselves means we have to extremely accept parts of ourselves regardless if we like them or not. It means
avoiding to conform to people’s expectations and unapologically doing so. It means choosing to love ourselves. You are original, beautiful and so deserving of being loved, even if you don’t believe it, yet. This issue holds various expressions of bodies from content related to body dysmorphia, eating disorders, suicide and celebrations of the body. The relationship we have with our body is complex and I hope that this issue captures that.
Who made this possible Editor-in-Chief Kimberly Harris Co-Producer Whitney Marks Director of the Women’s Center Fatima Roohi Pervaiz
- Kimberly
Contributors Janeth Alonso Alonso Rebekah Morris Sophia Mold Taylor Ginieczki Heather Barclay Francesca Smith K Gabby J. Silvia Di Gregorio Eleanor Klock Paula Levy Whitney Marks Ilana Slavit Makaal Allison Barre Maria Mbodj Ashleigh Horner Anette Rodriguez Reina Harwood Wendy Palafox-Arceo Gillian Arthur Emily Newton Hadass Leventhal Hannah Taylor Annabel Kuhn Kiana Nadonza
Words by Fatima Roohi Pervaiz
Body Positivity is inherently Intersectional Feminist. Body Positivity is the radical unlearning and rejection of every white male cishetero able-bodied interpretation of what is desirable and who we should all strive, ache and destroy each other and ourselves to become in order to reign supreme. Body Positivity is the loving kindness and grace that we give to the flesh that we carry and that carries us through living, crying, laughing, grieving, screaming, growing and learning. Body Positivity is the radical act within a patriarchal society to own your body and the right to your bodily autonomy – whether that be to give or to receive pleasure alone or with multiple partners, whether it be to charge money for physical, emotional and intellectual labor that you provide to someone else for their pleasure, whether it be to sleep for 13 hours a day or swim miles in the boundless sea. All you really own is you. Bodies with scars are beautiful bodies. Bodies that are fat are beautiful bodies. Bodies that did not have access to dental care growing up are beautiful bodies. Bodies with grey hair are beautiful bodies. Bodies with amputations are beautiful bodies. Bodies that are Gender Non-Conforming are beautiful bodies. Bodies with tattoos are beautiful bodies. Bodies that recoil at physical touch because of trauma and pain are beautiful bodies. Bodies with stretch marks are beautiful bodies. Bodies that are abstinent are beautiful bodies. Bodies with chronic physical pain are beautiful bodies. Bodies with long, vibrant acrylic tips are beautiful bodies. Bodies that have had cancerous tumors are beautiful bodies.
Bodies with wrinkles are beautiful bodies. Bodies that have birthed children are beautiful bodies. Bodies with invisible illness are beautiful bodies. Bodies with calloused and blistered hands are beautiful bodies. Bodies that have had an abortion are beautiful bodies. Bodies with no hair are beautiful bodies. Bodies that have been colonized and ravaged by sexual violence used as a weapon of war are beautiful bodies. Bodies that need medication are beautiful bodies. Bodies that are thin are beautiful bodies. Bodies exhausted by underpaid and unpaid labor are beautiful bodies. Bodies that have hairy legs, hairy armpits, unplucked brows and mustaches are beautiful bodies. Bodies that have endured socioeconomic injustice in food deserts while lacking access to preventative health care are beautiful bodies. Bodies that can’t walk are beautiful bodies. Bodies that can’t talk are beautiful bodies. Bodies that can’t hear are beautiful bodies. Bodies that can’t see are beautiful bodies. Bodies that have never been told they were so worthy and so lovable are beautiful bodies. Your body, simply existing in all of its boundless bravery, is a beautiful body. No apologies.
Embracing Your Beauty Words by Hannah Taylor Artwork by Gabby J. We can all use a little body positivity during this time. Society, social media, friends, family, ___ can all create an idea in our head of what our body needs to look like to be “beautiful.” Last year I struggled to see the beauty in the weight I put on after surgery. It’s important we take care of our bodies and it is healthy to have goals for ourselves, but I’m learning the power in loving our body where it’s at. No one else can be YOU and YOU can’t be anyone else because YOU were created to be who YOU are. It’s not always easy, but it is so important to embrace your body for what it is and what it allows to you to do. I challenge anyone reading this to ask yourself “what do you love about your body?” like my dietitian did for me. YOU are beautiful in your own unique way so let’s continue to build each other up instead of breaking each other down. I haven’t always looked at my body with a positive light because I don’t have what society and social media might consider to be the perfect body. However, like us all, I’m evolving. I’m growing with confidence and embracing my body by understanding it is what allows me to do what I love. My body allows me to play soccer, eat my favorite
foods, make memories with my friends and family, and so much more. Of course there are still times I struggle and there are goals I have to continue improving my physique, but taking a step back and realizing all my body can currently do shifts me back to the positive perspective. I love my body because I feel strong, powerful, and it allows me to push myself beyond what I think I’m capable of.
Photos by Ashleigh Horner
Inside
Words & Illustrations by K
Out
My body hurts From my mother’s words “You need to stop eating, that’s why you look like that.” I was 11 From my “friends” Who would pick at my belly I was 12 From a sentence told to me on my 13th birthday “You look like a prostitute wearing that.” I had on capri jeans, a flowy green tank top and sandals I was 13 From ladies at school weigh-ins “You weigh a lot for your age.” I was 14 From my family “No boy will ever like you.” I was 15 From myself “They’re right.” I was 16, 17 and 18 While my body has been abused I continue to fight For my mind, body and spirit Because I know Deep inside They’re wrong I am beautiful With food in my mouth With a tummy With big thighs With a double chin With chubby cheeks My body is beautiful Inside and out I am 19
Disclaimer: this piece reflects the opinion of the Contributor and not The Siren Magazine or the UO Women’s Center.
This should be obvious, but sex work can’t be empowering under a patriarchal society. Words by Hadass Leventhal With the rise in popularity of online sex work platforms such as OnlyFans, Smooci and Peppr, I can’t help but wonder who is being empowered by these softwares, especially during times of an almost exclusively mandatory quarantine. After a forty percent growth in OnlyFans influencers, we should all question if these apps are as harmless as they brand themselves to be. Seemingly a means to sexual liberation and financial independence, these services appear to be beneficial to all parties, except for their deep political and psychological implications. Said apps encourage the commodification and objectification of the female body under the fallacious veil of empowered choice. As long as there are marginalized women forced to somehow sell their bodies to make a living, sex work, whether online or
in person, is not to be considered an accomplishment worthy of celebration. Today’s trend of glamorizing online sex work is extremely dangerous because it naturalizes, and, above all, glamorizes selling one’s body under the backdrop of a “progressive” rhetoric. This phenomenon encourages to prostitution and contributes to its inherently unbalanced power and money dynamics. Rather than empowering women, commercial sex increases gender-based violence. Considering that mostly male customers pay the predominantly female sex worker’s bills, men are clearly put in a position of social dominance and financial authority over the women. In addition to that, I think that, ninety percent of sex workers depend on their pimp, who makes a living solely on controlling the prostitute’s actions. Besides the clear
link between child abuse and engaging in prostitution as an adult, sex workers are highly susceptible to physical violence, abuse and the contraction of sexually-transmitted diseases. There are undeniably sexist overtones to these arrangements. As a Brazilian young woman born and raised in São Paulo, I believe that, instead, sex work requires an intersectional approach. I am aware that, to some, prostitution can be a way of reclaiming their sexuality after having it stolen by the patriarchy. After all, Eurocentrism associates purity with whiteness. Under that logic, I can partially see why white liberal feminists choose to sexualize themselves for profit. However, it is simply unfair to promote sex work as universally empowering because its social consequences are unevenly distributed. Prostitution has strong links with systemic poverty, racial issues, social inequality and other structural problems, as it perpetuates them. We must not forget the minority groups who face unwanted fetishization and hypersexualization as a direct product of normalizing prostitution, like Women of Color, fat people and People with Disabilities. I recognize that my morals come from a place of privilege. I can choose not to prostitute myself, but many women can’t afford to do the same. What about the Brazilian Transgender Women
forced to work as prostitutes in the street because social stigma prevents them from getting ordinary jobs? Or the underage victims of sexual exploitation in Thailand who were denied of their childhood? Or the once-jailed women trapped in debt to their pimps? Do they just need to come to terms with the fact that “prostitution isn’t going nowhere?” Are they simply not self-empowered enough? People who advocate for sex work legalization and regulation have a self-centered speech which legitimizes horrible acts against women. The vast majority of prostitutes sell their bodies as a last resort, relying on a misogynistic system that puts them in an even more vulnerable social position than previously. Don’t be fooled: the choice to practice sex work is merely an illusion. Women do it because they can’t get any other jobs, are forced to, or absolutely need the money. Do you really think that people are increasingly camming during quarantine to make ends meet out of choice and fun?
Artwork by Eleanor Klock
Draw a Beautiful Body Use this space to draw a body that you think is beautiful.
Dear Body, I Love You Illustrations by Jaelynn Harris
The Topography of a Lake Tattoo Words by Rebekah Morris
The black lines on my upper left arm and bicep follow the direction of where land meets water. It’s the topography of Wabana Lake, the lake I grew up on. It’s the lake where my sister Hannah and I sat on the dock and caught bluegills and sunnies that we threw back to catch again. The lake with an island that had a large eagle’s nest on it. The lake where my dad’s dad’s ashes were thrown into the most northern water. The lake that was so clear we pretended weeds were arms reaching out of the depth, trying to attack us. The lake my dad left when he moved to Kansas. It has a bay that looks like a wide channel, opening up to the southern part of the lake. That bay was where our house was, Pickerel Bay. The lines on my arm show the depth and the layers that make the lake look like the inside of a tree, but uneven and random instead of structured. The lines show the complexity, boundaries, and edges where the water sifts into holes, swallows currents, and shimmers on shore.
The boundary marks on my arm are slightly faded and a little blurry, like the way the shoreline blends into the water. I got the tattoo in early 2018. Hannah and I travelled to a tattoo shop and parked the car less than a block away. We waited in the car because the frost stuck to the windows and the wind shook the signs that waved to us. We were at the shop twenty minutes before it opened on a Saturday; it was the day they took Walk-In appointments. We looked up from our reverie about the past and saw that a line had formed outside the front door. We regretfully took our place even though we had been the first ones there. I knew I wanted the topography of Wabana Lake on my arm. The woman at the front desk was excited about it. She had blue hair cut in a pixie style and wore a t-shirt that had a cat on it. The cat had a middle finger pointing upwards. Her eyes were lined with black eyeliner in heavy contrast to her pale skin. She gave me a clipboard and told me to step aside while I filled out paperwork.
The woman directly behind me asked if she could get a tattoo done on her inner arm. She showed Pixie girl and Pixie girl replied, “We can’t do it that small. It’d have to be much bigger to be realistic.” The woman behind me responded, “I don’t want it any bigger.” “Then you’ll have to find someone else. But I wouldn’t recommend it because the lines will fade into each other and when you’re old it will look like a blotchy mess. Do you want something else or not?” She was cold, rude to the woman, but she meant business. She didn’t care if the woman got a tattoo or not, there were plenty of people behind her. After the line was taken care of: name, phone number, and description of tattoo and placement all written down on a piece of paper on a clipboard, Pixie girl called my name. “Rebekah, you ready?” Her hands were smaller than mine, and she sat next to me on a bench as I told her how big I wanted the tattoo. “Alright, I’ll go draw it up. It’ll be a couple minutes.” She walked with assurance to the work area where she formatted the lines of the lake to the paper that would be placed on my arm like a sticker. She waved to me to come back to her station, and was bluntly honest.
“So here it is. But I want to let you know that the other tattoo artist noticed the outline of this lake kind of looks like a phallic symbol.” She told me. My face instantly went red. “Oh,” is all I could say. She rushed in with the words, “I didn’t see it, but she pointed it out. I wanted to let you know before we did it.” I looked down at my arm, which already had numerous tattoos. She continued, “If we place it sideways, in between your other tattoos, I don’t think anyone will notice.” “Yeah,” I said. “I don’t think anyone will notice.” How had I not noticed that my lake had a phallic symbol to it? The lake that I lived on for eighteen years, the lake on which my Dad built a home from a cabin, the lake where we went frog hunting, fishing, swimming, and sinking. The lake my parents left to travel south, leaving a family a new home to a younger couple that can create their own memories. The lake that held so many memories for me looked like a phallic symbol? She placed the sticker on my arm and peeled back the paper to show the purple lines she would follow. “Perfect,” I said. It was: in between flowers and the tattoos on the back of my arm, sideways, it simply looked like the lines of a lake. Her needle followed the shoreline over
my freckles on my left arm. Some lines were thicker than others. She asked if I needed a break an hour in. I declined. I didn’t ask her questions and she didn’t ask me any. We were comfortable in the silence. When she was finished she didn’t go through the usual treatment speech because I knew how to take care of them. I had thirteen tattoos in total. “Come back in a few months and I’ll touch it up for free.” I did go back a few months later, but I got at Jack-O-Lantern tattoo from a different worker, a man. Pixie girl was still at the front desk, telling people which tattoos they could get, which ones needed an actual appointment, and which ones should be taken off the dream list. Pixie girl passed away in February. She was just younger than me, twentythree years old. I looked at her tribute page online and saw the people who commented about missing her. Wishing she was still here. My heart sunk. I looked down at the lines that her hand had followed. She wouldn’t tattoo anyone ever again. It was suicide. She did the deed the quickest and surest way she could. Her boyfriend had broken up with her the week before, after she told him
another man had raped her. I’m not sure what kind of man her boyfriend was, or what the situation was with the accused rapist. But Pixie girl was from a different state and she had come to a colder town, a lonelier town. I can see the scene: a scene of anguish and betrayal. Of feeling worthless and extreme anger, and then a dark sadness that is inescapable. Inexcusable. She had held my arm in her hands when she tattooed me. Her fingers were soft and pale. Her hands reminded me of a child. The only question she asked me while she tattooed me was how I was doing. The little conversation we did have was about cats (I have two tattooed on the back of my arm) and how humorous, cute, and evil they can be. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She had been the only female to tattoo me in the U.S, and she deserved better. I could say I wish I would’ve reached out to her, hugged her, made more conversation with her, or became friends with her. And then maybe that wouldn’t have happened to her. But I won’t. I don’t wish that. Instead, I recognize she made art and she lived in a world where women’s words are often considered untrustworthy and suspicious. She lived in a world where that probably would have happened to
her at some point. That’s the truth. My tribute to Pixie girl will be to keep her tattoo on my arm from when she did it, to leave it in its blurry and untouched-up form. I add a memory to Wabana Lake that has nothing to with the lake, but everything to do with the world. She remains in me, in this memory. She is my reminder to speak up when men question me like they wouldn’t question a man. When men accuse me of things they wouldn’t accuse a man of. When men comment and joke about my body the way they wouldn’t joke about a man’s body. She is my reminder and she won’t be forgotten. She remains in the topography of a lake tattoo.
A Letter to My Body Words by Heather Barclay
Honey, You are powerful. You are resilient. You are caring. And I am so so sorry. I’m sorry for starving you. I’m sorry for shaming you. I’m sorry for hurling words of hate at you when we indulge. I’m sorry for basing our worth on a single number not our accomplishments. I’m sorry for not believing you’re beautiful even when others tell me so. I’m sorry for putting you through hell for validation. I’m sorry for only loving you when it’s convenient for me. You deserve better than my toxic friendship. You deserve peace and patience and pleasure. You deserve endless support and comfort. But I hope you’ll forgive me as I work on showing you more and more love everyday. Lovingly, my mentality
Write a Love Letter
Use this space to write words of affirmation about yourself.
Fantasy Words by Reina Harwood Artwork by Gabby J.
Hiding behind a crevice, unable to notice the girl that stood before me Weighed down by a scale stuck in a reality, she could not fix A fashion, to uphold, that did not fit A battle of comparison stained her bones From the skin on her stomach, down to her thighs A blindness, soaked from the dark To who she was, firing a shot of self-doubt, every chance she got A reality, too cold to hold A reality that her scale was 110 pounds and her curves were too thick For a 5’2 girl Toxic breath, released from her soft lips Unable to escape, a perfect image that she will never have Forcing her to birth her own light 450 days of journey beyond her hips, chest and down her waist A wound, cut deep in a place, she never knew Healed, by time Hills of trial and error 110 feet under, to the ground of her heart 12 pounds, a journey of self-love, acceptance and beauty
Followed me To love on my skin As I gaze into the mirror, I smile, leaving my crevice of fantasy behind, To pursue a reality, I hungered for Awakening, I see, the girl who stands before me The same girl who stood with a broken heart Whole, with sight to finally see, beauty that exists in me Acceptance of who I am, and who I will be. - loving, me
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Artwork by Whitney Marks
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Noi siamo preziose We are precious Photography by Silvia Di Gregorio
Words by Janeth Alonso Alonso Growing up I always judged my body. I was always told I was not good enough due to my body size. “Have you not seen yourself in the mirror?” Phrases like this would come out from my uncle’s mouth, who lived with us at the time. He would constantly compare me to my thin cousin in Washington. I remember being afraid of my pediatrician. I was at high risk of diabetes because of my weight. Many reasons caused me to be overweight. One being my access to healthy fruits and vegetables. I was also not allowed to play any sports growing up, because my mother was afraid of me getting hurt. In middle school, I would constantly compare myself with others, blame myself about my insecurities, and starve myself. I began to hurt myself. I felt like everyone around me judged me. In 2018, my grandfather was diagnosed with kidney failure. This event changed my life completely. I began to research diets and tips on how to lose weight overnight. The diets and tips never worked for me. Some days, I would
starve myself because I was obsessed with losing weight. During my senior year in high school, I decided to take a weightlifting class and failed it because I hated feeling sore. I was 190 pounds. Months passed by and I never saw results. One day my older brother sat down with me and explained to me about calorie deficit, cardio, and weight lifting. I began to go to the gym with them and gave up soda. I began to notice the small changes in my body. Today I mark 10 months with my weight loss journey. I have officially lost over 50 pounds. I have learned to discipline myself. Through this journey I have learned so many things, one being to love myself. I have learned to appreciate every single stretch mark around my stomach, legs, arms, and even thighs, because they are the evidence of me wanting a change and not giving up. I apologize to my body because I have hurt it throughout this journey. And I thank it because it hasn’t let me down.
Photos by Kiana Nadonza
HOW TO GET PERFECT SKIN
HOW PERFECT SKIN Words and photosTO by WendyGET Palafox-Arceo The perfect regimine for acne-prone skin Growing up, I would always see that adulthood. "Do you wash into your face?" typical teenage girl on my screen One often hears that our face gives freaking out because she had a off our first impression to another Growing up, I would always see that typical teenage girl on my screen pimple on her She she stared andonI her was nose. very aware of that.at I freaking outnose. because hadata pimple She stared herself remember vividly when I was on herself in the mirror with disgust and terror at this single pimple. In my inpanic, the mirror with disgust she worried howand sheterror could get way rid of it by the dance on Friday. It atwas this scenes single pimple. In panic, homethat fromany school a stranger like these that made me know type and of flaw was not shesocially worriedacceptable. how she could get rid of approached me and had the urgency it by the dance on Friday. It was to scenes like these that made me know sharemytheir remedy My second year of high school was when skinhomemade started show signsforof that anyThe typeterror of flawthewas not girl on the acne. As much as Ione appreciated acne. teenage screen felt for pimple, her I socially acceptable. desire to help, as someone who was felt 20 times harder. MyThe second yearcost of high school wasfrom acne focused on high school,skincare biggest of that came was not the pricey when my skin started show signs a part-time job, was doing track products promising “clear skinofin onehad week” or the visits to the acne. The terror the and involved numerous dermatologist thatteenage lead megirl toon get on accutane, theinmost potentclubs, drug to treat it was reminded the cost ofme my thepharmaceutical screen felt for one pimple, I acne, butthisrather interaction and the insecurity to trulythat be myself throughout some feltconfidence 20 times harder. what matters to others wasof thebiggest most important development into adulthood. The cost of thatyears came of from appearance, acne was not the pricey skincare not my accomplishments. One often hears that face gives offGoing our first impression another products promising “clearour skin in one into adulthood is to difficult and I was very aware of that. I remember vividly when I was on myLatina, way week” or the visits to the enough, let alone as a young home from that school me and had the urgency dermatologist leadand meatostranger get on approached so many challenges to adverse. There to share their homemade remedy for acne. As much as I appreciated Accutane, the most potent were so many societal standards to her desire to help, as someone who was on high school, pharmaceutical drug to treat acne, livefocused up to, while trying to stay but rather it was the cost of my focused on being the first person in confidence and the insecurity to truly my be myself throughout some of the family to attend college, there were most important years of development bigger and more important things to
had a part-time job, was doing track and involved in numerous clubs, this interaction reminded me that what matters to others was appearance, not my accomplishments. Going into adulthood is difficult enough, let put myas mind to,Latina, but for somechallenges reason I alone a young so many to adverse. so many could onlyThere focuswere on my acne.societal standards to live up to, while trying to stay Spending so many hours on watching focused on being the first person in my YouTube videos on how to were get perfect there bigger and family to attend college, skin me to things believe thatmyflawless moreled important to put mind to,skin but for some reason I could only focus on my was the only way to be happy acne. Spending so many hours on watching with oneself. YouTube videos on how to get perfect skin led Itmewas not until senior where to believe that the flawless skinyear was the only I way to be oneself. began tohappy take with a different
regime to my acne. Something that I have It was not until the senior year where I began never prescribed normygiven to take been a different regime to acne. unsolicited by Iahave stranger, acceptance. Something that never been prescribed unsolicited by a stranger, nor given Everyone was urged to give me a acceptance. Everyone was urged to give me a solution to get rid of it, but no one ever solution to get rid of it, but no one ever tried tried to me make to make feel me like feel one oflike my options was to love and accept myself in the of accept one of my options was to process love and trying to help my acne. Once I changed my myself in the process of trying mentality and dedicated myself to accepting tomyself, helpI my acne. Oncemyself I changed started treating kinder,my softer and more gentle. No longer do I allowto mentality and dedicated myself to impact something that is outI of my control accepting myself, started treating myself me so deeply and take my precious time any kinder, softer and more longer. This is my body’s natural response, gentle. No longer I allow something trying to protect me. do If I am healthy, why would I try to neglect it? that is out of my control to impact me so deeply and take my - Wendy Palafox-Arceo c/o 2022 precious time any longer. This is my body’s natural response, trying to protect me. If I am healthy, why would I try to neglect it?
She Looks Into Me Her eyes solemn and critical She runs her fingers over certain points Of imperfection on her body She moves in closer Analysing the slope of her lips The blemishes on her face She tries to smooth down the frizz of her hair I hate that I make her see Herself as anything less than beautiful She steps back Puts on some clothes Then she turns to face me One final time At last a smile spreads on her face “Am I the fairest of them all?�
Poems by Sophia Mold
Liberty
MORPH
You have The right to Be called, you Have the right To be, the right To adjust
He spoke to her legs Asked them how They support All her weight With no reply Her legs walked off He moved on To her knees Asked them how They bend To accommodate Every need They bent then And sat down Next to him And explained how Sometimes they fail And fall out From beneath her He reeled back And asked how Her head does not Detach itself And fly off Her head shook And turned away
I FEEL LOVED Artwork by Llana Slavit
Body Posi. Podcasts Recommended by The Women’s Center Staff
Fifty Feminist States Episode 28: pt 1 - Oregon Peach, Please! Episode 15: Confidence is an everyday choice with Bailey Peyton Why Won’t You Date Me? With Nicole Byer Recognize your Self-Worth Flex Your Heart Radio Healing from the trauma of colonialism, Eurocentric beauty ideals and disordered eating in Communities of Color with Gloria Lucas Pillow Talk Healing Trauma with Dominatrix All My Relations Podcast Episode 5: Decolonzing Sex
Songs to dance to when you need to show your body some extra love Playlist by Heather Barclay
1. BITCH by Meredith Brooks 2. GOOD AS HELL by Lizzo
3. BUBBLE TOES by Jack Johnson
4. IDGAF by Dua Lipa 5. I’M EVERY WOMAN by Chaka Khan 6. PRETTY HURTS by Beyonce 7. S.L.U.T. by Bea Miller
12. 9 TO 5 by Dolly Parton 11. UNTITLED GOD SONG by Haley Heynderickx 10. TEMPO by Lizzo
9. SOULMATE by Lizzo
8. PUSSY IS GOD by King Princess
Artwork by Annabel Kuhn
Words and photos by Paula Levy
Although I don’t talk about it much, I have struggled with body dysmorphia and eating disorders for almost a decade. I have lived most of my life with disgust and shame about how I look. To feel uncomfortable in your own skin is excruciating. For whatever reason, mirror pictures have become my sacred ritual. What started as documenting my favorite outfits has become my steps toward self-love.
It’s a simple act, but is ultimately how I practice my body positivity. I have a long way to go in my healing, and will continue to find new ways to celebrate my body.
Words and Photos by Paula Levy
Photos by Allison Barre Modeled by Maria Mbodj
What it’s Like to Not Be a Size Two Words and artwork by Francesca Smith I used to read fashion magazines The crisp, colorful pages seemed to invite me into its bubbly world of glamour that I would have otherwise never been a part of I could practically feel the condescending glares of the toned, scantily clad gods that were sprawled on its pages But I lived for this A lifestyle that only existed on print Was what I desired above all else Calories began to be counted Those numbers seemed to loom over my head like a death sentence Exercise became a necessity In order to expunge the parts of me that I felt like kept me from happiness I resented the body that I was trapped in I didn’t sparkle like the other girls While everyone else ran around carefree And soaked up every delicious drop of their fleeting childhood I spent the time crying because I looked at a scale I felt loathsome and unlovable I was a late bloomer In adolescence, I naturally shed the weight
People began to look at me differently I was finally then what people might consider “attractive” But I wasn’t happy Just because the symptoms go away, the illness doesn’t die Body dysmorphia is a silent killer No one would suspect a pretty, skinny girl Of having any reason to be enveloped in misery And by the time they can congratulate her for how she lost all that weight She’s dug herself a grave To be buried alive in insecurity It took me some time to realize that I saw my body through a funhouse mirror Warped and distended My perception had been conditioned to be constantly dissatisfied with anything short of the retouched smiles that I once held so highly I learned what it was like to love myself It was so foreign to me Like learning to walk again It was so perfectly unusual to feel freedom in my own body I still will never fit into size two dresses But, God, am I happy.
Words by Anette Rodriguez A nickname de cariño. Un apodo that stuck to me de nacimiento and everybody used A name I really didn’t think much of. I grew up being called that By my tios and tias and my mamita and papito. I was the cachetona from the bunch of grandkids. The one that would get extra allowance from the adultos For letting them pinch my cachetes and lonjas. I was the consentida for eating all the comida deliciosa That was placed in front of me. Los Adultos saying “Otro plato, mija”, “She finished that fast.” “Comio mucho!”, “Esa es mi gordita!” It wasn’t until a certain age when the apodo started to bother me. My older sister with the nickname “eskele” being the polar opposite of me She was bendecida with a tall and thin body. I started getting self-conscious of myself for not looking like her and other girls. The apodo started bothering me every time it came out of anybody’s mouth. It no longer held the cariño it once did, all it was to me was a taunt. They would say “gordita” but all my ears could register was fat, ugly, puerca, big, glotona, stout, podgy, choncha. Some girls in my class would call me names and mock me. But it wasn’t as bad as my mind and self. The me in front of an espejo was my biggest troll. And my own palabras were the deepest heridas in the folds of this cuerpo I hated. I started this dieta which is all my tias talk about. Cutting french fries out of my menu for the goal of becoming one instead. In this world, I was a potato among french fries. I would cut meals, which was difficult at my Mexican household. Before leaving I would check my appearance and hate what stared back at me
Calories were something I didn’t really know about but still tracked In hopes of losing all the weight and becoming pretty. No era feliz with anything I did. I lost some weight but felt like mierda I struggled with what to do a veces cruzando por mi mente The dark sisters of bulimia and anorexia. Thankfully my mentalidad changed a tiempo I missed eating all the good foods my mama cooked I missed looking at myself and seeing a mi misma I missed being the confident xingona I was. Being pulled out of my mamas body at nacimiento Her wide hips making el parto easier The same wide caderas I hated from myself The genes I found beautiful on her, lentamente I learned to love on myself too Este cuerpo is a piece of art that dios sculpted And I’m lucky to have cada curva, dip, and marca. No importa what others say cause it’s mine. My body is my temple that deserves to be taken care of And if not by me por quien mas. Sin pedir disculpas, Soy Gordita.
Strawberry Moon Words by Taylor Ginieczki
Craters. Does she know, you think? Don’t look so close. Is her skin pink? Her halo of clouds aglow Delicately sings About the whispers wafting upwards From the world beneath her reign. Sliver. The edge of her jawline is blade-sharp For a dark night or two. I think I like her other phases a bit better... don’t you? She’s too small in your camera. Too dim for a nightlight. Too slim — now too big — Swallowed up by the twilight. Well... Shall we break it to them together? The moon laughs. She knows us both better. Our craters and curves Are ours and not yours; We wax and we wane Defiant of shame, Turning gold pink and white As the day bows to night, Yet as dawn brings the dusk, Ask it we must — Is my soul gauged by girth? Do my edges shape my worth? Do I deserve the sky or the earth? ... Let the laughter rain down on our folly. Let our love for ourselves answer questions we couldn’t — She is no less a celestial body, And I am no less of a woman.
Changing Shape: Words by Gillian Arthur
Not too long ago I started rewatching America’s Next Top Model hoping it would cure my quarantine boredom. Before you ask, yes it did, but there was something that bothered me watching it a second time around: body positivity. I know modeling is a very competitive industry, but I didn’t know how competitive it is for girls we already perceive as “skinny,” and the show taught me a lot about what “skinny” meant 17 years ago in modeling. While the judges turned away girls who were dangerously thin, they also criticized girls who were merely one or two sizes “too big” (yet still very thin). What does this teach us? Or more importantly what does it teach the girls of the next generation? Thin isn’t thin enough? Seeing the critiques the panel had for these women was hard for me to process and I found it quite troubling. There seemed to be a very small window for a model’s size: If she is too skinny she’s anorexic. But if she’s thick she’s too big to be a model. Tyra Banks celebrated some of the “plus sized” women, hoping their success would change the industry (what we should be doing) but others, like Janice Dickinson, refused to even consider the possibility of these women becoming top models because of their size. Because I don’t know a lot about the conditions of the modeling industry right now I reached out to a model/friend/UO student, Jenny, knowing she could give me a glimpse into 2020’s contemporary modeling culture.
Gillian: How would you characterize body image outlook in the modeling industry? (Positive/negative; inclusive/exclusive)? Jenny: I would characterize body image in the modeling industry as something that is evolving. Even when I started and comparing that to right now, the body inclusivity has really changed. Although it is still a work in progress, brands are realizing it’s important to include more varieties and body types because in the end no size really fits all. I strongly believe even five years from now, the modeling industry will be different than what it is right now in 2020. Gillian: What sort of body positivity experiences (positive or negative) have you dealt with in modeling? Please share what you are comfortable sharing. Jenny: In terms of my personal experience with body positivity, I’ve had some good and some less positive. I have been told in the past that they wanted me to lose inches on my hips and in general change my body. Although at the time when I was told this I was perfectly healthy but for modeling the expectations are different. I work with mostly fit brands so the expectations are to be very much in shape. It’s hard as a woman in the modeling industry because our bodies naturally fluctuate, there’s never a time when we are all the exact same weight. Although I have had some great experiences as well. I’ve never been a size 0, that’s just not how I was built. I am considered more on the curvy side in
Modeling in 2020 the modeling industry, but in the last year’s that has been more so embraced than when I started. I struggled for a while with the fact that my waist fit sample size requirements of 24 inches but my hips were always farther than the standard 34 inches they expect. Although I used to get down on myself about this, I had to realize everyone carries weight differently. Companies have begun to introduce more diverse representations of body types and that is really nice to see. Gillian: What other factors would you say affect body image receptivity in modeling? (race, gender, sexuality etc.)? Jenny: I believe in the modeling industry it’s come to realizing that not every woman is a size 0 to 2 or at the height of 5’9. Every woman is different, I think it’s come to the point where marketing one type of woman isn’t relatable to every client a company markets to. With women we should embrace what we are. I think the industry is following in that direction and we’re seeing change. Gillian: Is there this idea of the “perfect body” in modeling? What does this look like and how does it impact you? Jenny: Yes there still is this concept of the ideal body in the modeling industry. The ideal body has a 34” bust, 24” waist, 34” hip measurement. To be honest not everyone is built that way and not every body naturally holds their body weight the same way. At the end of the day genetics are genetics, so you can’t fight certain things. But as time goes on the morning industry is slowly shifting. I can personally say I
have never been those exact measurements myself. My bust and hip measurements have never been exactly at 34 inches, but my waist did fit what they call “sample size” measurements. When I was younger it would really confuse me and make me quite upset because I felt like no matter what I did, I wouldn’t fit all 3 of those measurements. but as I’ve gotten older and become more confident myself and realize the biggest thing for me is to not fixate on measurements but instead work on becoming a healthier better version of myself. Because if you are taking care of yourself you look better altogether. Gillian: What ways can the industry do better regarding body inclusivity? Jenny: In terms of what the modeling industry can do to improve body image, at the moment companies are indeed changing and making the industry more inclusive. So it’s great to see changes already. Ways to continue in this direction is to see more girls of different body types and various heights to have the opportunity to do some of the same jobs that I do. Some brands like Nike and adidas that I work for often have done a phenomenal job at including women of different size, shape, and height into their campaigns. It’s so encouraging and amazing to see. I’m so fortunate and grateful for the opportunities I’ve been given and I look forward to continue following the progression in the modeling industry.
Artwork by Gabby J.
ARTWORK BY: MAKAAL W.
Artwork by Makaal
My hair was once full of sunshine, now it’s dull and brittle, dark.
Words by Emily Newton
SKIN WALKER
I look hard in a dusty mirror I don’t recognize the person, that odd person that’s staring back at me.
My eyes used to shine, they used to be an ocean of sparkling emeralds. Now they are bitter, like mud.
I could be in despair. My hands, Over my my hands used to be hair, eyes, hands, smooth. Soft. smile. Now they are I could be, callused, but I’m not. rough. That person, those features My smile used to be are not me. my best feature. I’ve grown, Shiny, happy, pure. I’ve been through People would be prone, a period of to smile when I smile. discovery. My smile has faded into someone I no longer recognize. I loved that smile, but it wasn’t real. This person in this mirror, is real, is me.
Send Nudes Artwork by Gabby J. @gabbyjmedia
This collection of work started with me asking my roommates, “Completely disregarding social media, what is one thing about your appearance that you wish you could physically show the public right now?� My goal with this project is to represent the people around me through their own personal photos of themselves during quarantine. Personally, staring at a screen in place of attending lectures and spending time with loved ones has been particularly tough on my mental health. Part of the human experience is physical socialization and touch. Having that taken away from me in day-to-day life has been particularly difficult, but the roommates I live with can solve all of that with a hug and a conversation. These people uplift me, encourage me, listen to me, and tell me everything will be okay in a time where
we aren’t quite sure how the world will turn out. My favorite part of this collection is that every single art work within this portfolio is a recreation of a photo that was sent to me by people I know, admire, and love. Quarantine has limited my ability to experience human touch and socialization, so I decided to paint each of these works with my hands, with the exception of the fine linework, of course. Otherwise, no brushes were used in the making of this collection! I think the message could be easily received if I had just used brushes, but the implication of physical touch through finger painting gave me an even deeper emotional connection to this work and to the human body in general. Creating this entire collection of works has been a healing and positive experience for not only myself but all of the people involved in it.
Artwork by Gabby J. @gabbyjmedia
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