RuPaul's Drag Race

Recently I was introduced to an amazing show called RuPaul's Drag Race. It features famous drag queen RuPaul and her search for the next drag superstar. A group of drag performers compete against one another with dancing, acting, costume making, character building, and lip syncing, attempting to outperform each other for a chance at the crown.

And oh my goodness! There's so much talent, comedy, and subculture insight in every single moment of this show. The queens featured on the show mug and preen and provide so much entertainment, I can hardly look away.

The last few weeks, though, I have been living for one of my best friends' blog recaps. She puts together screenshots, GIFs, and videos that sum up everything you could want to know about the show. If you like drag, camp, witty commentary, hilarious GIFs, or just pure entertainment, I encourage you to check out the Dilettwat's blog: http://dilettwat.typepad.com/.

Body Shaming

Yesterday, while avoiding work, I came across a personally upsetting story. A 13-year-old girl in St. Louis was having trouble with bullying. Classmates had been taunting her and sexually harassing her because she happens to have large breasts. When the girl's mother reported the issue to the school and the school district she was given the most appalling piece of advice. Instead of sympathizing in any way with this poor girl, the school district instead suggested that they consider getting the girl a breast reduction.

I'll let that sink in.

Not only was the school's response wholly unsympathetic to a very real problem of sexual harassment and bullying, but they contributed to it. They blamed the girl's body for the problem. "Kids will be kids," they seem to say, " and if your daughter had a less sexual body, she wouldn't be facing this problem in the first place."

I cannot tell you how much this angers me, in part, because I've been there.

I hit puberty a bit earlier than most of my peers, and by seventh grade had fairly pronounced curves myself. I was wearing a bra long before any of my friends and had size C breasts before any of my friends were out of their training bras. I was actually nicknamed curves and got a reputation for being promiscuous before I even bestowed my first kiss.

So I know exactly what this girl is going through and what she will face moving forward. People will assume she is a very sexual creature before she even has an idea what that means. People will accuse her of wearing revealing clothing, when she is wearing the exact same things as her friends. Boys will claim she is flirting with them simply because in their minds they have sexualized their interactions with her. And people will blame all of this on her simply because of the shape of her body.

I was actually discussing this with a friend of mine the other day. Our looks play a huge part in how people view and judge us, even though there's nothing we have done to develop these bodies. The friend I was talking to about this has a very boyish figure, with very small hips, no ass to speak of, and  small breasts. She was complaining that she could never fill out her jeans to her satisfaction and would give anything to have my curves.

Another friend of mine has an incredibly lithe athletic body. She's petite and adorable, and, in my opinion, has one of the best bodies I've seen. She complained that she wanted my breasts and was actually contemplating a boob job to get them.

I told both of them that while I love my body (you know, when I'm not actively hating it), my curves have created problems for me that they would not appreciate.

For instance, a short time after college, I worked in an office with a very conservative manager. I was told when I began working there that they expected a very modest style of dress, and that I should do my best to adhere to it. I had no problem with that. I had no interest in looking sexy for the office, and I promised to choose my clothes carefully.

Still, about two months into working there, I was taken into my boss's office and told that my outfit that day was far too revealing and that I would either have to put on a cardigan (provided by the boss's wife and about 3 sizes too large) or go home. I was shocked, but agreed to put on the cardigan.

The offending outfit? A pair of loose-fitting slacks and a turtleneck sweater. Apparently the sweater that covered me from neck to wrist displayed my breasts in too enticing a way for my boss.

Two weeks after that, I was called in again. Another problem with a revealing outfit. The long sleeved sweater I was wearing was an over-sized loose knit. Because it was flesh-toned, though, the boss claimed it made me look like I was putting my body on display.

Even though I had a shirt on underneath it, he claimed it was far too sexual for the office.

Another cardigan.

I was not wearing anything sexual to that office and had made a particular effort to wear conservative clothing every day. Yet, because of the shape of my body, even those conservative outfits were considered sexual.

As I told my friends who wished for larger breasts, I'm constantly asked to reevaluate what I'm wearing because it might be considered too sexual.

Button up shirts? Nope, the buttons strain, drawing attention to my breasts.

Turtlenecks? Suddenly I'm a 50s sex kitten.

Tshirts? Let Laci Green tell you about that. 

V-necks? Draws the eyes right down.

Scoop necks? Displays the cleavage perfectly.

And every time, it's somehow my fault for the way my body is.

So to the school that actively blames the 13 year old girl's breast size for her bullying, to everyone who attempts to derive someone's character or motives because of the shape of their body, to anyone who has made someone ashamed of their body, grow some decency.

Our bodies are none of your business. How we dress or don't dress does not grant you license to draw conclusions about our character.  The shape or size of a woman's breasts, hips, stomach, thighs does not give you an excuse to treat her any differently. If you sexualize someone, then that's on you, not on her.

So knock it off. It's not appreciated.

Frivolity of Hair Color Addictions

Note: Last post was so serious and political and such, and now I post on something completely trivial. Such is the state of my mind. Feel free to not read. I just feel like typing. :)

I think I've developed the redhead sickness. I'm addicted to getting my hair that perfect shade of red. Nothing seems bright or true enough without crossing into cartoon/comic villain land.

You see, naturally, I'm a blondish brown. It's a color declared "Ash blonde" or "Honey Wheat" on haircolor boxes. It's where blondes insist I'm a brunette, but brunettes refuse to acknowledge me as anything but a blonde. Suffice it to say, it's a very English/Irish peasant girl sort of color. Bah, here's a picture:

If you could just ignore the fact that I'm a little drunk in the picture (hey, it was Dragon*Con! And I was in costume!), I think it's a really good picture of my hair. See what I mean, though? Hard to classify as blonde or brunette. Neither group will have me.

So I've given up on trying to classify myself, and joined a much more fun group: the redheads! When I went off to grad school, I decided I wanted to experiment for the first time with my hair color and started dyeing (dying?) it. First I went for as dramatic a change as I could:

That's right. I dyed my hair black. It was quite dramatic, made my green eyes pop, but really upset my mother. I only kept it for a few months, and while I had fun with it, it just didn't suit me; I'm no Dita to pull off the blonde to black. So I decided I needed to transition back to light colors, went to a stylist (at Great Clips, natch) and asked her to move me in the right direction back to my natural color. She explained that to go from black to blonde/brown would damage the heck out of my hair, and suggested I try a color in between. I thought she'd suggest a nice caramel color, but instead she asked if I'd ever considered being a redhead. I laughingly explained that my then boyfriend (now husband) loved redheads, and I'd be up to try it. So she went for a nice shiny burgundy color.

I instantly fell in love. It was dramatic, it turned heads, and it made me feel like a true Scotch Irish girl. James drooled over it, my friends insisted it was so me, I was hooked. But my mother hated.

You see, my mother is a natural redhead. Copper hair, blue eyes, freckles EVERYWHERE. She said she just wanted me to embrace my natural color and stop playing around with my hair, but I think she liked being the only redhead in the family. So I went back to my normal color. I colored it my normal color, let it grow out, chopped off any residual treated hair, and thought that was it. But I missed being a redhead.

So about two years ago, I decided I was going back to red. But this time I'd find the perfect color for me. I scoured the boxes of color, looking for the one that was closest to my mother's natural color. I figured if I'm her daughter, and I have close to her coloring, then her hair color should work best for me. I grabbed two boxes (as my hair was quite long by then) and got to work.

It was perfect. It looked so natural. People came up to me in the grocery store regularly to comment on how beautiful my hair was, how it was such a gorgeous color, and was it real? Addiction begun.

Since then, I've regularly dyed my hair red. I've experimented with a couple of brands and shades to find the best one for me (L'Oreal Superior Preference, Intense Red Copper), and even planned my dyeing schedule to get just the right amount of fade for my wedding last year. I know how much it fades and when it needs to be refreshed to have the most vibrant color for special occasions.

Now here is the addiction. Even my perfect color has started to seem not quite "red" enough. It's too copper, too auburn, too ... brown. I start thinking it's just a normal brown with hints of red. It's not really "RED". I laughed at my friend Erica when she insisted her intensely red hair was too brown for her. What was she thinking? It's the most vibrant shade of red I'd seen that was outside of a box of Crayolas or comic books. But I think I understand now. Even the brightest shades I find in the drugstore are starting to seem too bland, too muddled, too ordinary.

See the great thing about being a redhead is being unique. You stand out. Even if you're sitting quietly in a corner at a party, you draw attention. If you're quiet, at least your hair is vivacious. And everyone knows redheads are crazy, in a totally good way, of course. But if you can pass for a brunette, if your vibrant hair color has faded, you feel faded, too.

You see? It's an addiction. I'm writing about the stimulating effects of hair color, for the gods' sake! And when the vibrancy/high fades, you start thinking of how to get that next coloring/high. I'm relying on my husband to keep me from crossing over into too much of the cartoon reds, and I'm relying on my fear of damaging my hair with too many chemicals to keep me from indulging this addiction too much. But am I alone? Am I the only one (besides Erica of course) who gets addicted to the silly, superficial, easy things?