The Muse’s Misfortune

The Muse’s Misfortune 

To be a muse is to be worthy. To be a muse is to be beautiful and talented, chosen and seen. To be a muse is to be exhilarated and exhausted, honored and objectified, proud and pornified. There cannot be one state of being without the other, so long as there is one being to perceive and one being to be perceived.

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In some societies, perhaps, it is possible for a muse to exist without the constant fear and awareness of their own and another’s presence. In patriarchal and sexist cultures, however, the muse faces an internal and external threat of surveillance, and therefore sexualization. “(Patriarchal and sexist) society defines woman as object, as a mere body, and… are in fact frequently regarded by others as objects and mere bodies” (Young, I. “Throwing Like a Girl: A Phenomenology of Feminine Body Comportment Motility and Spatiality,” p. 153-154). For feminine muses, they “learn to live out (their) existence in accordance with the definition that patriarchal culture assigns to (them, and) are physically inhibited, confined, positioned, and objectified” (152). The definition becomes internalized, which then manipulates and forces women into being more feminine- more submissive, docile, small, quiet. “Women often approach a physical engagement with things with timidity, uncertainty, and hesitancy… (They) lack an entire trust in (their) bodies to carry (them to their) aims. There is… a double hesitation here. On the one hand, (women) lack confidence that (they) have the capacity to do what must be done… The other side of this tentativeness is… a fear of getting hurt… (They) often experience (their) bodies as a fragile encumbrance, rather than the medium for the enactment of (their) aims” (143-144). The subordination of feminine beings is at the root of patriarchy, and it grows as more minds and bodies accept the notion that feminine and masculine categories cannot intermingle. The stronger the patriarchy becomes, the more ‘natural’ it seems that feminine bodies are weaker than masculine bodies. In reality, women “have more of a tendency than men to greatly underestimate our bodily capacity,” as well as the relentless pressure of being perceived as a muse, which results in under-performance.

Behind The Screen

So earlier I was trying to do this assignment and I was critiquing it constantly and trying to make it sound more deep and professional than necessary so I’m starting over with a new approach. Dr. Kate said that it should be in “our own voice” so I’m going to write in a sort of free-write style. That being said, bear with me. 

My idea for the blog comes from the very first reading we were assigned this semester. When I was reading it for the first time, some of it was confusing me quite a bit but there was one particular section that was pretty straight forward to me. Within the first couple of pages, the authors talk about bodies in relation to cyberculture. They particularly mention how, in the 21st century, we are able to have an extension of our bodies in the form of televideo calls and/or avatars. In other words, the body is not just the physical being. 

This got me thinking about my own experience with video game avatars. Since I was a child, I would always, without a doubt, choose to play as the male character and not the female character (even though I was AFAB). Like whether it was Mario Kart or Papa’s Hotdogeria, my character had to have the ♂️ selected. Even when I would play board games like Clue with my family, I would always choose Prince Azure over Lady Lavendar. I remember feeling some level of guilt for picking to play as these characters as I started to approach middle school age, but I literally could not force myself to pick the others.

Screenshot of My Current Papa’s Hotdogeria That Doesn’t Totally Look Like Me (Best $1.99 I Ever Spent BTW)

Not to get too vulnerable or personal or anything but I’m going through a bit of a gender journey at the moment and this has actually been something I’ve been reflecting on for the past couple of months. My desire to “be” the boy characters in these games, I’m starting to believe, was likely a projection of what I wanted for myself in real life. This didn’t exactly feel like something I could be capable of when I was 8 so I was confined to doing it from behind a controller or keyboard. However, I think I was actually lucky to be able to somewhat experience worldly interactions (even computer-generated ones) from the perspective of the body I mentally felt comfortable in even though it didn’t match my physical body. 

Some people get tattoos and piercings to feel more appropriate within themselves. I, and many others, chose to take it a different route (not that I haven’t also partaken in the former). By accepting virtual avatars as an extension of myself, I allow myself to learn about my own identity and perform it (think “doing gender” in my case”). I think we are all lucky to be able to have this type of outlet for exploration and expression and we shouldn’t take it for granted. I hope we can find even more ways in the future for people to safely/freely form their identities in terms of embodiment.

Phenomenology Field Research

The gym is such an interesting place from an academic’s point of view, as each person experiences it differently. So as a fem-presenting disabled person, I decided to do some field research in regards to the gym  (aka I needed an excuse to suck it up and go) So off I went in my wheelchair, leg braces in tow to get some walking practice in. As I arrive at the RAC, I am greeted by the out of order door opener!! What a great start… way to encourage disabled people to be active. I got some (a lot of) stares, because disabled people being active is outside of the norm to which people perceive. Where I see opportunity, and things I can do and adapt, able-bodied people see what I can’t do, and get all surprised when I do something outside of their idea of what disabled people are capable of. To me, I was just minding my business working out, but to others, I may have been perceived as inspirational or extraordinary simply because of phenomenology. What I experience and the people around me experience are two totally different things. Going to the gym is normal for me, whereas its not “normal” to see a disabled person in the gym for many able bodied people, making it seem out of place in how they experience the world. I also experience gym equipment differently, and it is evident that those who designed the gym and it’s equipment designed it from their own experience. For starters, there was a hand cycle in the gym (think of a stationary bike, but with the pedals at about shoulder height, a photo will be attatched) At least the gym had one, but that is not without faults. A wheelchair user like myself needs to a) transfer onto the seat on the machine and b) have enough lower body and core strength to balance on the seat. As someone that is ambulatory, it is not an issue for my own lived experience, but to someone else it very well may be. The hand grips also require a LOT of hand strength to hold onto, and I found it to be quite difficult. There are hand cycles out there that a wheelchair user can roll up to, and I just wish that was the case at the RAC. There were also no tactile buttons, braille or a headphone jack for audio instructions on ANY of the machines throughout the gym, making it so someone that does not experience vision cannot use the machines unassisted. I think learning about the concept of phenomenology is something that a lot of people that design gyms and other spaces should learn about. How you experience things is not the same as others for so many reasons, whether that be race, trauma, upbringing and ability. Growing up I was told to “put myself into the shoes of others” and that is the very basics of phenomenology, which gets built upon by looking into factors that I mentioned previously. Understanding how another person may feel is great, but understanding how someone may experience your creation, words or actions is a great step to bettering the world. Rather than connecting to course materials in the form of articles, I decided to conduct some field research to apply the overarching concept of the course so far: phenomenology. It felt fitting considering phenomenology is all about experiencing the world, and I think that it was a success!

Hue and Hurt

As long as I can remember, I’ve felt a certain way about my skin. Now, I left that remark to be vague because that “certain” way has changed constantly throughout my life. I’ve come to love my dark, glistening skin. In fact, I’d go as far as saying it is my favorite physical trait of mine.  My family comes from a country where having dark skin is the beauty standard, it is slightly out of the ordinary to be of a lighter complexion, because to us, being dark is just…us – a natural part of our phenotype.

 However, coming into a country where the beauty standard is quite the opposite shook my world. I believe everyone is familiar with the humiliation ritual that is middle school. One day, as I was taking part in this humiliation ritual, a black boy, black just like me, looked at me as I walked past. “Blending in with your outfit, I see!” To better contextualize this interaction, it would be good for you to note I was wearing black jeans and a black long sleeve. 

I’d like you to be mindful of the fact that he was no more than two shades lighter than me. He was black, black just like me. There was no one else around, really. He wasn’t with any friends, nor was I. It was just him, the lockers, me, and our melanin. He wasn’t doing this for validation, it was genuinely how he felt. 

I’ve received comments like this numerous times. When the teacher turned the lights off to properly project a video onto the board, I’d gulp preparing for the comments asking where I went. But something about it coming from someone who looked almost just like me felt so different. I was young then, but I understood that he didn’t hate me, it was himself that he hated. 

Now, being dark skin is more “accepted,” if you will.. a lot of people call it “the great shift.” To me, it’s more of a great fetishization, but I digress. I was sort of reminded of this anecdote when reading Alcoff’s “Toward’s a Phenomenology of Racial Embodiment” as it heavily looked into the manner in which we perceive race. I grew curious about the way colorism is perceived in the black community, and whether it would be different if we hadn’t been tainted with such racism, we felt the need to further divide ourselves for self-protection. 

Peach fuzz

I don’t need to be seen

I ask Google is it possible to disappear into myself 

If you could choose one superpower what would it be?

Invisibility

Without a doubt.

I feel invisible anyway

The Black Female Body: The Restrictive Covenant

With all of the readings, I was really intrigued, and I really wanted to connect some of the content with the Black Woman’s experience in America. I often feel like Black women don’t even own their bodies. Our bodies are always for public debate, and when I say bodies, I don’t just mean like our physical self, I mean like everything we do, whether it be speaking, our general demeanor, etc. It always becomes a matter of public opinion. Citizen by Claudia Rankin talks about the public outrage that Serena Williams was behind, with the way that she expressed her discontent with the umpire of her match, and how she was messing up her calls. It just reminded me of the first reading we did in class, “Introduction: Not Just the Reflexive Reflex” by Kosut & Moore. There is this quote we went over in class. It was in reference to the body and how “it is our possession and our prison, while at the same time it is out of our control as it leaks, fails us, and gives us away” (2), and we discussed in class how this process of “leaking” is completely normal. I looked at it from the point of view that what Serena did was completely normal; her being upset was her body “leaking” in a way. Still, for some reason, it was a problem; it no longer became normal to be a professional athlete who spent their entire time training for matches like this, to be rightfully upset when the umpire made an error. I also found a connection between “Throwing Like a Girl” by Young and how women often have this battle of I can and I cannot, or maybe in this case, it is I should and I should not. While this was in reference to physical activities, I connected this with how we as Black women so often know that we should speak up when we are disrespected, but we hit ourselves with the I cannot. We don’t have the luxury of being able to voice our opinions without it ruining the public perception of Black women as a whole. 

What Lies Behind a RBF

Little did I know when coming into college how many opinions were really out there regarding my resting face. Who knew that there’d be so many comments and concerns about me when I thought I was simply going about my day-to-day life?

I never thought much about the way that I looked while walking around, minding my own business in public spaces, but apparently, I don’t look as content as I may feel. I remember walking to Potomac Hall, where I lived during my freshman year at UMBC, when an employee from True Grits said, “Having a bad day?” I can’t exactly recall what I said or how the situation occurred, but I believe he followed with “You look mad.” This, of course, caught me completely off guard, and I’ve been aware ever since of how I come off in public spaces.

Truthfully, it bothers me most when my friends mention times that they’ve seen me out and about, unsure of whether I was doing alright or not. I also have a tendency to be ‘in the zone’ when walking about, so not only do I accidentally ignore my friends, but I do so with a certified ‘RBF.’ I always feel terrible and apologize, but times like these can’t help but make me laugh, as I know that my friends can see right through the RBF.

This ties into concepts from Iris Marion Young’s “Throwing Like a Girl: A Phenomenology of Feminine Body Comportment, Motility, and Spatiality,” and how women’s lives are often associated with confinement and enclosure. To those in public spaces who don’t know me personally, it’s probably easy for them to assume that I’m the closed-off, keep-to-myself type. Men may be quicker to assume from looking at my face that I’m not as happy as I actually am. So much is assumed about women based solely on their looks. While women certainly have a whole lot to be angry about, we don’t necessarily aim to visualize our feelings as we go about life on a daily basis.

Transcending Metamorphosis

A quick notecard drawing I did at the UMBC Community Art Project.

“The flesh is inscribed with meaning both from ourselves with our consent and by others against our will.” Kosut & Moore, Introduction: Not Just the Reflexive Reflex.

In times when my community is the center of media, I feel like an ant being scorched alive under the microscopic lens of a snot-nosed child. Why, in my own habitat, must I smell my burning flesh? It’s not as if mine or my neighboring hills have done anything to incite such a cruel fate. Still, man believes himself to invade and reign supreme over bodies he views as ‘other’. 

Growing up in a small town is difficult because you know everybody and everybody knows you. Being divergent from those who surround you, the burden of being seen feels suffocating; you’re not really sure what people think until they say something to indicate how they feel about people like you. 

Twice now have I received a call from my dad following cases of gun violence in which the shooter – or someone personally involved with the shooter – identified as transgender. First, he’d sent me a text saying to call him when I had a minute. He’d preface the call with “now I’m not saying this to scare you, but” before updating me on the latest crass life-threatening narrative spun about my community and subsequently spread like wildfire among people who haven’t known how it feels to live with intrinsic fear laced in their veins. And although it was coming from a place of love, he told me this time to “be selective of who I tell”; as if that is something I needed to be told, as if telling me to keep my identity a secret isn’t painful no matter the place it comes from. 

Michael Foucault’s Docile Bodies describe “a body that is docile may be subjected, used, transformed, and improved”. The modality of control is an uninterrupted coercion, and technicians of discipline become dominating. Where there is power, however, there is always resistance.

What does self-preservation in the face of tyranny look like? Under the scrutiny of everyone’s eyes, I feel like I’m expected to shrink, to slink quietly back into stealth and hide an integral part of myself. The fighting part of me refuses to go unnoticed and I yearn to get irrevocably intertwined in activism, to bloom into a symbol of hope. My pride will never get ripped away from me. I will not be a docile body.

Claudia Rankine, author of Citizen, poses a question that stings like alcohol on a raw wound; “How difficult is it for one body to feel the injustice wheeled at another? Are the tensions, the recognitions, the disappointments, and the failures that exploded in the riots too foreign?” Are minority groups viewed as so far removed and alienated from ‘typical’ society that we are seen not as human, but as beast? When the very structure designed to serve you strips you of your rights, your protections and defenses, and discusses rescinding your amendments, the answer is an aggressive, spit-in-your-face “YES”. 

Regarding Sick Girls, Women, and All Those Perceived as Such

The body perceived as a ‘woman’ is the body assumed to contain a hysteric mind. While this concept is pervasive in every aspect of our society, one can especially see the ways in which past thoughts on the ‘gendering’ of bodies determine how one is treated when looking at medical settings. Looking at this from a phenomenological point of view, others’ perception of one’s body leads to a complete denial of one’s internal experiences.

…

Alexithymia and other Griefs

This will not have any answers to any questions at all. If I knew the answers, I wouldn’t be writing a blog about this specifically.

I don’t know. These three words have been a centerpiece in my vocabulary for as long as I can remember. It seems so easy, to know. Everyone else seems to know how they feel or how much they enjoy something, what they want to do, where they want to go. I do not. I have struggled to understand when I’m feeling any emotion more complex than happy or sad. It is more unusual, then, that I can more easily recognize other people’s emotions than my own. I do not know what I want to do. Nothing stands out. People say “do what interests you” but nothing is inherently interesting to me, I don’t think. Even my current hobbies took a while of doing for me to become interested in them. It’s like I’m plagued with disinterest and uncertainty beyond what is normal. Now, nothing here is unexplainable. Autism, major depressive disorder, anxiety, everything I experience falls into the realm of “yeah that makes sense” once my conditions are factored in. And I don’t hate it, but I notice how the expectations of me are different. When I’d give a short, straightforward answer in a group setting, my autism is to blame, like it wouldn’t be satisfactory if I was normal. I guess I prefer it to how it used to be. My “I don’t know” responses in regards to my feelings were met with frustration. It was upsetting. I was upsetting people and I couldn’t know why. My therapy sessions always end half an hour early because I simply do not know how to say what I feel, do not know what I feel in order to say it. It is shameful in retrospect.

Now for the other issue flying through the cog works in my head; are my thoughts my own thoughts? I mean, yes, I am thinking them, but am I merely repeating what I hear? Are my opinions actually my own opinions, or just regurgitations of what other people think? This, I think, became more of a thought within the past year or two, as I know for a fact that my vision of my gender identity is mine. As such, what else is my own? I do not mean original, I mean what do I actually believe in? And I can sit here and say “oh I believe in xyz” but in reality, most of the time I don’t know (there it is again!) if I actually believe it. Of course, there is also the idea that you are the product of your environment. The argument that even if it is repetition, why does that make it less of my own? Maybe I question my thoughts and opinions when I subconsciously disagree with them. Ultimately, though, I don’t know. That’s what this whole thing is about, isn’t it? Not knowing most of how you feel. Sure, love and happiness and sadness and anger are identifiable, but what am I missing out on? Who’s opinions have influenced mine to the point where they just aren’t mine anymore?