Two weeks ago I made an impromptu trip out to Fire Island with friends during which we made approximately 12 cumulative trips to the Pines Pantry for supplies, perfected the recipe for “chip salad,” and watched eight episodes of Reba. Barbra Jean Hart, you will always be famous.
Lazing around in a bathing suit had me more aware of my body than I was all winter. In fact, over the past few month, I’ve been trying to remind myself that I have a body, and that there have been times in life when I enjoyed that body. As I talked about in my last post, I haven’t been feeling very sexual this spring, but I’d like to at least feel sexy, not in a way that aims to promote or provoke desire in others but makes me strut around with a little extra something in my step. I want to feel a little cunty, is that a crime?
To that end, I’ve been trying to do things that remind me of a version of myself that I did find sexy. That was one of the reasons I wanted to be blonde again this summer, and why the light ginger my hair turned out after my last salon appointment sent me into a doom spiral. I hate to quote Fleabag, but hair is everything! There’s nothing more reliably me than needing to change my hair in some meaningful way once a quarter as an outward expression of some inner chaos. Thankfully last weekend a hairstylist friend of mine turned me out with a cooler, beige blonde that offsets my freckles nicely.
Another way I gave myself a confidence boost was by visiting my dermatologist for some Botox and filler. The crunching sound of Restylane hitting my cheekbones was so viscerally satisfying, like freshly poured concrete on a hot summer day. My lips are now huge once more, my forehead has stopped moving again. Very The Greatest Showman voice: this is me!
Writing this by the pool on Fire Island as the Glee mashup of “I Feel Pretty/Unpretty” played from the pool speakers, a chill ran down my spine.
With Memorial Day over and summer finally here, bodies are more on display than ever. Last summer I was in full prairie girl mode, then I was in a full mental breakdown, so I wasn’t exactly serving cunt. This year I want to be comfortable showing a little skin. Or I at least want to break the habit of feeling good to neutral about how I look, then imagining how other people might see me and start hitting my head against the one wall in my apartment with concrete on the other side.
By the steamy, spa-mode pool in the Pines, as we listened to the Challengers soundtrack and did bumps of ketamine, my friend’s boyfriend asked me how they would know if I was spiraling. “You would know because I would say ‘I’m spiraling.’” That’s what this newsletter has become, right? Me telling you all when I’m spiraling, occasionally biweekly. But thanks to the Botox and the flat, sardonic nature of my editorial voice, it’s probably hard to tell if I really mean it. I do!
Some other things that have helped me feel sexy lately include: Lawless plumping lip gloss, Phlur Apricot Privée, Billie Eilish’s new album, and the mini Hitachi wand I bought to use as a bag charm but which has not yet made it onto a bag. (It will, though—I need a little more horsepower.)
I’ll be back later this week with musings on all the media I’ve consumed recently. Yesterday I saw I Saw the TV Glow and think I could go long on it, let me know if you’d enjoy a more in-depth breakdown. Ciao for now.
Join me in donating to help Hadeel Jalal and her family. Via Operation Olive Branch.
How did no spend May go? The other day I celebrated its conclusion/treated myself to a solo lunch date at a new restaurant ✨
we crave your thoughts on the pink opaque