- How Getting Drawn Nude Helped Me Learn to Love My Body
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- Poorly Drawn Lines – Love Song
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- How Getting Drawn Nude Helped Me Learn to Love My Body?
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How Getting Drawn Nude Helped Me Learn to Love My Body
Drawings, paintings, and sketches were taped up and pinned all over the walls. Old photos, tear-outs from Vogue and other fashion magazines, old and new, were scattered in each corner.
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On top of his counter, desk, and table, were stacks of drawings of other figures. He poured us two glasses, and we started chatting.
My stomach twisted like a rubber-banded tie-dye T-shirt. In the midst of some small talk, he seamlessly pulled out a sketch pad and drew me while I was still in my day clothes. We talked about dumb boy problems and our dating lives. He mentioned he loved my podcast, something he could listen to with his queer daughter.
He noted he had a hard time keeping up with her and the lexicon of identity. The evaluation of that body, though, is held to an impossible standard powered by residual fat-kid anxiety that found a new life in the glossy twink-idolotry of gay magazines, porn, teen movies, and other trace depictions of gay life in my early adulthood. Body dysmorphia is a funny thing. It finds you at the gym, during sex, in the bathroom mirror. It pushes you to an impossible degree of physicality but debilitates you mentally, warping your perception like a funhouse mirror. It is an odorless gas that wears away your energy, and that depletion keeps you from enjoying everyday life, ruins romantic moments, makes food taste like nothing, and keeps you from good beach days.
In a single question, I felt the same old triggers, but it was up to me as to whether I would enjoy this moment or fall into the same old mistakes.
Poorly Drawn Lines – Love Song
I removed my shirt. After he drew a few more sketches, I removed my pants and socks, too.
Instead, the evening was a slow unraveling of my guard and my wardrobe. Each time I removed an item of clothing was preceded with a careful question from him getting a temperature check on my comfort. Rain pattered on the window, and conversation slowed. Thunder clapped to the sound of pencil scratches.