"You're much smarter than people give you credit for."
This is not a compliment.
On that same thread: I’m tangling hard with this notion of public persona. That for whatever reason, writing about sex gives some people the idea that you are available sexually to them (this is not new, this is something I’ve noticed a long time ago). But this being commonly understood as a consumable girl is hitting a breaking point for me. Does it mean I can’t flirt-for-real in public spaces without being perceived as buying into a role, without agreeing with that being pegged as The Sex Girl?
I was never that girl. I never played against my own intelligence to make men comfortable around me. I come on strong by being open, not teasing. I don’t look for strength in men’s eyes that way. As temporarily delightful as cocktail conversation may be — until our cabs come — I get my real and lasting courage from my own vulnerability. I can only trust my sense of worth to be safe with those unafraid to love me, not someone who finds me amusing five minutes at a time.
A friend brought me a giant pastel piece he made as a tribute to me. It dominates the wall across from my desk. I’m not ready to photograph it yet: a woman’s parted legs, abstract, with a white mouse over her vulva. A computer mouse. I can’t look at it without feeling like I’m contending with it, fighting with it in a ring.
This is the year of being smart about being seen.
