Body Acceptance series - Skin

"Skin has become inadequate in interfacing with reality. Technology has become the body’s new membrane of existence." - Nam June Paik

To start off this post, I’m going to take a second to brag: many people have told me that I have “great skin”.   I get where they’re coming from since I rarely break out or develop stretch marks or wrinkles (except the giant one on my forehead from trying to make my eyes bigger).   However, I’m always tempted to reply, “If you only knew the trouble my skin has caused me”.  My skin looks great on the surface, but it’s been the cause of so much misery that I’ve had to teach myself to be okay with it.

What made me decide to write this post finally was reading about Cara Delevingne revealing her psoriasis at the Met Gala and developing fear that I will be discriminated against as monkeypox become a greater concern.  It’s already happened with someone who has eczema, which is what I suffer from.  I actually have multiple types of dermatitis/eczema, but since they’re been mostly manageable, I refrained from calling it a “chronic illness”.  However, that changed last year when I had the worst flare-up in my life since college (when I nearly had a hole in my finger from dyshidrotic eczema leading to open wounds leading to an allergic reaction to Band-Aids leading to a staph infection).

In the spring of 2021, I experienced the perfect storm of allergic reactions to beauty and bath products and PPE from my work, sensitivity to humidity, and probably some stress thrown in.  The result was my body and face being covered in an itchy rash that no amount of steroid cream could treat.  To make things worse, I got wounds from scratching myself in my sleep, and my eyes were actually starting to swell.  My skin also became discolored after I started using an extremely potent steroid that my dermatologist prescribed me as a last resort. 

I wound up taking time off of work because it was too difficult to wear masks, gloves, and the PPE I needed to handle lab mice.  I never had issues in the past, but I think prolonged exposure to surgical face masks has aggravated the sensitivity I have for elastics.  Plus I am allergic to latex, and with the demand for masks and gloves so high, who knows if there was contamination from the manufacturing process?  I am by no means an anti-masker, but I’ve become pretty outspoken about the need for options for people who have allergies to elastic material.  Or really for everyone else who is not allergic to synthetic fabrics to mask properly so those of us who get face rashes can wear cotton masks and still be protected from COVID-19.  Thankfully I was mostly healed by the time I had to record for my next show.  However, I still had scars from the scratch wounds and wound up having more costume pieces to cover up.  Having been bullied as a teenager for weird scabs and redness made me self-conscious of showing too much of my skin.  Healing from that bad flare-up also meant healing from past trauma related to my skin.

I don't normally keep my corset on for the whole
routine and I was grateful that I could add
gauntlets and fishnets for my New Media look.

If you remember my quest to accept my body hair, not having to suffer from post-shave itching definitely sped up that process.  My dermatitis has also led me to change some of my make-up products because I’ve become even more sensitive to fragrance.  I’ve never used deodorant partly due to these allergies (also because I don’t sweat much and antiperspirant, which seems to be automatically added in most brands, poses a risk).  I get irritated when people demand that everyone wears deodorant or if someone sprays perfume backstage because my health is more important that someone’s comfort.  Sorry not sorry.

In short, my “beautiful skin” really is just skin-deep.  What’s unseen is this chronic illness that has led to a lot of emotional and even physical pain.  I now give myself bimonthly injections of Dupixent to keep the bad flare-ups at bay.  I still get worried when the weather gets too hot and will never be able to indulge in fancy or fun skincare products or spa days.  My hand washing habits are miserable because there’s only so much Aquaphor I can put on my hands afterwards, which means I have to be particularly careful even as pandemic restrictions have all but disappeared.  However, I’m glad things are more manageable now, and I’m fine with this simplified beauty routine.  Now if only we could stop destroying the ozone so I can stop getting sunburns as much...

Body Acceptance series - Hair

"I just wanna be myself, and I want you to love me for who I am
I just wanna be myself, and I want you to know
I am my hair" - Lady Gaga, "Hair" 

It's been a long time since I've done a Body Acceptance post.  This one was tricky because I have a long history of loving and hating my hair.  And hair is covers a lot! (pun intended)

For the majority of my life, people have been sending messages about what to do with my hair.  My classmates talked about how "gross" they felt when they didn't shave their legs or when they couldn't wash their hair every week.  I got bullied for not shaving my legs and having greasy hair. My dad laughed at my hairy thighs, and my mom forced me to shave my armpits after preteen me told her that American women shaved.  A Mary Kay salesperson teaching a friend and me how to apply makeup for prom told me to wax my eyebrows, and one of my friends in college insisted on tweezing them.  The Companion, during a more immature time, once requested that I trim my pubic hair, and to this day, a flash of pubic hair could get a show shut down.

Being an anxious perfectionist, I was doomed to develop a discomfort with my naked body and a terrible relationship with my hair.  I didn't want to do burlesque because I felt too hairy, and thus too ugly.  I couldn't see myself stripping down to a G-string, as those strips of fabric never to covered enough.

Then I started to learn about dancers who bucked societal norms.  It began with the belly dance community, namely Unmata, who had tattoos and unshaven armpits.  In burlesque, I discovered Rubyyy Jones, who stopped shaving her armpits and even wore a hairy merkin for an act.  At Viva Dallas Burlesque's DC vs. Marvel show, I met Shan de Leers who was on her own journey to reclaim her body through not shaving.  I started wondering if I could do the same.

By this point, my dermatitis had me not shaving my legs out of necessity, and thanks to the queerlesque community, I was slowly growing okay with it.  However, I've never truly had hairy legs, just dark hair.  The real test would be when I stopped shaving my armpits, a decision I made at the end of August as I prepared for Glitterbomb's Hair show.  I would be telling my story.

Glitterbomb: Hair
Photo by Kristen Gaddis

The act was a reverse strip based on the premise of getting ready for a show.  I wore my long black wig to symbolize how long and thick hair represents femininity and the struggle I have with my mom every time I want to cut my hair.  Although the inclusion of my samba costume was motivated by a desire to recycle an essentially retired outfit, I must confess other motives.  It was my most glamorous ensemble, and it symbolized a difficult thought that lingered in my mind with regards to all the troupes I joined or considered joining.  Despite the support I received, I still felt pressure to shave in order to not distract from the troupe aesthetic.  In a group, you have to consider everyone else in addition to yourself.  Maybe this is why I prefer going solo— in burlesque and in life.

Glitterbomb provided the perfect venue for this new step.  The audience has always been ultra supportive, and some of my fellow queerlesquers didn't shave.  Plus the hair theme was perfect!  The gods might have been sending me a message that it was time.

Photo by Saraphimart

I never looked back… at least when it came to armpit and leg hair.  It's an extra reveal and a way to challenge audience members who have certain expectations of beauty.  I still worry about my pubic hair making an unexpected appearance and causing an issue, but I can solve that issue with costuming and safety thongs.  As for the hair on my head, it's another beast.

My photos for the Esteemed project cover how complex my struggles with hair have been.  Anytime I wear my long black wig and get a compliment on how good I look with long hair, I start feeling a tinge of regret.  Then I see fellow performers with undercuts and shaved sides, and I wonder if I'll ever be brave enough to do that.  Lately, as I embrace my genderfluid identity and do more drag, I'm more assertive about getting shorter, more masculine cuts.  I also try not to go into hairdressers with too specific expectations because that would lead to dissatisfaction and more angst over being too shy to let them know.  There are always wigs, I tell myself.  We're just working on acceptance after all.

Ironically, my drag self has a hair-related name.  I take the Pink approach with Tony Fo-Hawk in that one's hair does not have to match the name.  Speaking of the extreme dude with perpetual helmet hair, you can catch him tomorrow night at Glitterbomb.

Body Acceptance series - Eyes

 "Men seldom make passes
At girls who wear glasses." - "News Item" by Dorothy Parker

Recently I did a photoshoot with Musico Roots for her Esteemed project.  It made me confront my struggles with body positivity and gave me motivation to finally get around this series—called "Body Acceptance" because I believe we don't have to be positive about every part of our body, but we need to find some level of acceptance (modification included).  I've been wanting to write a post about being a severely myopic performer as well so I decided to start with my eyes and talk about both their appearance and their function.

Like many Asian-Americans, I grew up with kids making fun of me for my eyes.  If that wasn't enough of a blow to my self-esteem, my own family often commented on how I "would be so beautiful if it weren't for [my] small eyes" or how I should get double eyelid surgery when I got older.  Even now people think I’m sad, tired, or angry when my face is at neutral.

From Buzzfeed's

"25 Beauty Struggles Asian Girls Go Through"

Ami-rian / Getty Images / Cathy Ngo / BuzzFeed

I've never desired double eyelid surgery, but sometimes I wonder if it would make life easier.  On top of having small eyes and monolids, my eyes are droopy and my eyelashes slant downward.  This makes wearing contacts, mascara, and false eyelashes a perpetual struggle.  I've tried every trick in the book with falsies and curlers, but gravity wins in the end.  Buzzfeed hit the nail on the head with all my eye make-up struggles.  If surgery could get rid of some of these and spare me the agony of having an eyelash or three frequently in my eye, I would be thrilled.  At the same time, I doubt it would actually get rid of my insecurities.  I'd be better off going under the knife for vision problems.

That brings me to the source of my biggest performance nightmare: my rigid gas permeable contact lenses.  Before every show, I freak out about the possibility of getting glitter, an eyelash, or a speck of dust into my eye and causing excruciating pain and lots of tears.  RGP lenses are an updated form of hard contacts, which means I can constantly feel their presence (one can get acclimated to them, but my eyes don't like wearing them every day).  A tiny thread on them feels like being poked in the eyeball.  I've had a couple of close calls and one incident while kittening.  It makes me feel bad that I end up being this liability to producers and stage managers.

So why do I bother?  Well, I can only see clearly about 4.5 inches from my face.  Everything else is a collection of blurry blobs.  I'd rather not risk taking a tumble off the stage; plus, unfocused eyes make me look high.  My small eyes and monolids keep me from being able to insert soft contacts, and my vision is still changing so LASIK will have to wait. 

I laugh at irony of contacts being preferred because glasses obscure my face and reflect light, yet having RGP contacts limit my expressiveness due to the fact that the lenses actually shift around my eyeballs.  I make do with what I have by working to be a better actress and sometimes drawing in that double eyelid.  I also get my bit of critique in with my "Black Glasses" act.  The ending is a reminder that glasses in real life are not accessories that enhance or conceal a person's attractiveness.  They're a necessity for near- and far-sighted individuals to live a normal life.

Photo by Dolly Cosplay
http://www.facebook.com/dollycosplaypage

I want to end with a note of acceptance.  Initially I struggled to come up with something positive to say because my eyes have been my least favorite trait since childhood.  A few years ago, however, I discovered the character, Kyoya Hibari from Katekyo Hitman Reborn! Not only is he a badass with a serious demeanor that I identify with, but he also had narrow eyes (that don't look closed like Brock from Pokemon).  Cosplaying him made me appreciate the eyes I have, and I'm excited about another future cosplay for the same reason.  This is partly why my aesthetic has shifted toward the masculine since big eyes and long lashes are often associated with femininity. 

My droopy eyes have also forced me to master the cat eye.  It's the one aspect of make-up that I can do well, and obviously it has been very useful in burlesque.

On a final note, you can come see my cat eye (and my "Black Glasses" act) tonight in Denton for Glitterbomb: