It's taken me significantly longer than usual to take to my Netbook and perform what is slowly becoming a daily ritual but I do wish to discuss something with the general populous that has been bothering me all day.
Therefore, trash TV aside and regardless of how comfortable my bed may seem right now I shall endeavor to put this complaint into some kind of coherent (and hopefully short) rant.
On Friday I'll be in Newcastle for my first photo shoot in a good many years and, being somewhat more pierced (and bald) than I was when I began it's safe to assume I will be falling squarely, from this point forward, into the category of 'alternative model'.
This is not a label I take any particular issue with, however it is one which comes bearing a good degree of social stigma and is conducive to sweeping generalisation thanks to websites like Suicide Girls.
Let me be the forerunner here in putting the record straight: to be an alternative model does not necessarily mean I will be a) getting my tits and/or clunge out on camera or b) trussing myself up like a kinky Christmas turkey and squeezing my generous size 10 into any incarnation of fetish wear.
[Just try telling most photographers that without sounding like a prissy cunt.]
Alarmingly a good deal of the mistaken identity of 'alternative modelling' comes from the models themselves who, most likely through a mixture of 'more-hardcore-than-thou' intentions and overwhelming desire to be accepted regardless of modifications, are often more than willing to debase themselves on camera.
At the expense of sounding like the Mummy in the room - that is, quite simply, the way it is.
My personal gripe arises when people try to pass off sexual exploitation as female empowerment - especially, as is becoming ever more apparent, women.
It seems to me that the diligent work of the feminist movement in the 60's and 70's has been utterly quashed and succeeded by some kind of twisted, bastard child of itself centered around the immersion in a rapidly growing raunch culture where success is measured in two ways: 1) how easily you can pretend to be a man and adopt (often exceeding in devotion) the chauvinist mindset or 2) how fully you fulfil the male fantasy ideal.
What was once top shelf, brown paper bag material is now at eye level so that even the youngest of girls is being shown on a daily basis exactly what they are expected to grow up to be should they wish to find any degree of affection.
That is not to say I am prudish, wish to censor the press or have anything against the hypothetical 'reclaiming of the female body' but I do have inherent degrees of decency, a sense of self-respect which I happily extend to all within my gender and a desire to see reclamation done right.
But, I digress.
Since the term was coined 'alternative modelling' was supposed to develop into a nemesis of this bleach blonde, big titted atrocity splayed across our most popular publications but - as happens with all good artistic intent - the money kicks in and suddenly it's black haired, painfully corseted girls doing exactly the same thing except this time they're claiming that they're representing 'the cause'.
'Feel so powerful'.
'Feminine'.
I'm sorry, what? I couldn't hear you over the sound of all those Internet nerds logging in and tossing off over your latex clad thighs.
I could continue to ramble but instead I suggest you all simply go out and make one purchase; 'Female Chauvinist Pigs' by Ariel Levy...you'll be no less conflicted after reading it but you may have a little more in your personal outrage arsenal.
As for me, I will be doing the upcoming shoot because I have found a photographer who is understanding and trustworthy. It will be in clothes that make me feel beautiful, on my terms and with no motivation/further use than art for the sake of art.
I'm not claiming to know the answer to the Post-Post Feminist conundrum but firmly hold that it is one not to be ignored.
Annie.
<3
Therefore, trash TV aside and regardless of how comfortable my bed may seem right now I shall endeavor to put this complaint into some kind of coherent (and hopefully short) rant.
On Friday I'll be in Newcastle for my first photo shoot in a good many years and, being somewhat more pierced (and bald) than I was when I began it's safe to assume I will be falling squarely, from this point forward, into the category of 'alternative model'.
This is not a label I take any particular issue with, however it is one which comes bearing a good degree of social stigma and is conducive to sweeping generalisation thanks to websites like Suicide Girls.
Let me be the forerunner here in putting the record straight: to be an alternative model does not necessarily mean I will be a) getting my tits and/or clunge out on camera or b) trussing myself up like a kinky Christmas turkey and squeezing my generous size 10 into any incarnation of fetish wear.
[Just try telling most photographers that without sounding like a prissy cunt.]
Alarmingly a good deal of the mistaken identity of 'alternative modelling' comes from the models themselves who, most likely through a mixture of 'more-hardcore-than-thou' intentions and overwhelming desire to be accepted regardless of modifications, are often more than willing to debase themselves on camera.
At the expense of sounding like the Mummy in the room - that is, quite simply, the way it is.
My personal gripe arises when people try to pass off sexual exploitation as female empowerment - especially, as is becoming ever more apparent, women.
It seems to me that the diligent work of the feminist movement in the 60's and 70's has been utterly quashed and succeeded by some kind of twisted, bastard child of itself centered around the immersion in a rapidly growing raunch culture where success is measured in two ways: 1) how easily you can pretend to be a man and adopt (often exceeding in devotion) the chauvinist mindset or 2) how fully you fulfil the male fantasy ideal.
What was once top shelf, brown paper bag material is now at eye level so that even the youngest of girls is being shown on a daily basis exactly what they are expected to grow up to be should they wish to find any degree of affection.
That is not to say I am prudish, wish to censor the press or have anything against the hypothetical 'reclaiming of the female body' but I do have inherent degrees of decency, a sense of self-respect which I happily extend to all within my gender and a desire to see reclamation done right.
But, I digress.
Since the term was coined 'alternative modelling' was supposed to develop into a nemesis of this bleach blonde, big titted atrocity splayed across our most popular publications but - as happens with all good artistic intent - the money kicks in and suddenly it's black haired, painfully corseted girls doing exactly the same thing except this time they're claiming that they're representing 'the cause'.
'Feel so powerful'.
'Feminine'.
I'm sorry, what? I couldn't hear you over the sound of all those Internet nerds logging in and tossing off over your latex clad thighs.
I could continue to ramble but instead I suggest you all simply go out and make one purchase; 'Female Chauvinist Pigs' by Ariel Levy...you'll be no less conflicted after reading it but you may have a little more in your personal outrage arsenal.
As for me, I will be doing the upcoming shoot because I have found a photographer who is understanding and trustworthy. It will be in clothes that make me feel beautiful, on my terms and with no motivation/further use than art for the sake of art.
I'm not claiming to know the answer to the Post-Post Feminist conundrum but firmly hold that it is one not to be ignored.
Annie.
<3
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