Celebrating Sex Blogging

This post is not about Kink, but a celebration of dreams not coming true and the people who make new ones materialise.

When I was a young woman, I took modeling classes (yeah, those are a thing). Upon first joining, I thought it was going to be great. And some of it was. I learned skills that have served me well as a woman, a wife, a submissive and a sex blogger. 

But as young women are so often known to, I had formed unrealistic ideas about what models do and the lives they lead. I thought the entire matter would be trying on the hottest clothes, maybe getting into local advertisements, or even getting recognized by an agency and traveling the world. Like so many before me, I wanted to become a star. One of the rich and famous. I didn’t realize that it would be classes that were hours upon hours of learning which fork to eat with at which course (which has served me a time or two), or learning how to walk, in just the right way (this has also been useful). Practicing turns and how to sit just so. It seemed like everything was about those classes and not the great things I had formed in my mind.

I was delighted to finally get my first fashion show and I showed up fifteen minutes early with a bright smile on my face and was ushered inside. After being shown to where I would do hair and makeup (amateurs do these things themselves, another false promise, formed in an adolescent mind), wardrobe came and had me try on some clothes. This would become the first time that my body was critiqued, at least openly.

I stood there while listening to the assistants talk about me like I wasn’t in the same space. They were saying how my breasts weren’t big enough, my waist still carried too much “baby-fat” and how I was shorter than most other models. I tried to shrug it off. I understood even then that all women are made different. I wasn’t the same as my friends or most other girls my age, and that was okay. I didn’t say anything, they were just doing their jobs. The show must go on.

When I was finally dressed and it was time to start, I got in place in the queue and we shuffled forward. One at a time, each of us with Kleenex stuffed in our armpits to absorb the moisture, the program director informed of us to step out. I watched as the other models put a big smile on their faces and when my time came, I smiled and I stepped out too (they only use sultry stares on the runways of New York, Paris, and Milan).

The first thing I noticed was the lights. Almost blinding, but not enough to mask the brightness of the flashes of cameras. The eyes of each onlooker glowing luminously with the reflection. With all those eyes on me, I remembered the assistants comments and suddenly wasn’t so sure of my dream. I wasn’t so sure the spotlight was where I should be. My smile faltered, my nerves showed through. I finished the show, sighed in relief to no longer have all those eyes on me, and went home, putting the moment out of my head, placing my attention on friends and soccer matches.

A few days later I was asked to do another show scheduled for two months later, with the condition that I lose five to ten pounds, so I would meet the size requirements. And I had to work on my smile.

After declining the offer, I hung up the phone and I knew then that I would never step on a stage for that purpose again. I didn’t want to be a filtered, edited version of myself. I didn’t want others telling me I wasn’t good enough because I didn’t meet some weird requirement set by a society that I wan’t sure I wanted to be a part of. Someone else deciding my weight or telling me my DNA wasn’t up to their standards. I was going to live the life of the best ME. The real ME.

Don’t ever let a soul in the world tell you that you can’t be exactly who you are – Lady Gaga

Years later I was taking a leadership course and at the beginning, after introducing herself, the instructor projected two pictures side by side. On the left was Lady Gaga, the right, Kate Middleton. At the bottom read, “Which has a better life ?”

We went around the room and each had to tell the group which we choose and why. The voting majority was leaning towards Kate. She was prim and proper, she always looked her best and smiled for the cameras. We never saw moments where she was less than perfect. She was a princess. Lady Gaga wore suits of meat on stage. She was strange and didn’t quite fit in anywhere. How could there be any comparison?

It was finally my turn to speak and I remembered that time twenty years previously when I was judged for being who I was and I confidently said that I thought Lady Gaga had a better life. No, she wasn’t a princess but she had built an empire nonetheless. She may not be prim and proper all the time but she was always herself. She didn’t feel the need to change or meet other people’s standards of how she should be. Also, Lady Gaga donated time and money to charities and fought for causes, too. They were no better than each other, but one was able to live a life she wanted, the other a life prescribed.

I made sure to finish my rant telling how I wouldn’t choose either life though. How I enjoy my anonymity and the ability to walk down the street without being questioned, harassed or chased after. The lives of stars may seem glamorous, but to have the entire world critiquing you, doesn’t sound at all glamorous to me.

I don’t like to share my personal life, it wouldn’t be personal if I shared it – George Clooney

I try to give celebrities the same curtesy I would like. I have met many while I was working in hospitality and have found that they are just people, living their lives, doing a job. I believe that they have a right to privacy.

I wouldn’t want everything I did to be published in newspapers or tabloids. I wouldn’t want people screaming my name and calling my name out on the street. I would hate to have my picture taken everywhere I go. It just seems like an extra difficulty in an already overwhelming world.

When I decided to launch a sex blog, I knew that I may once again be critiqued. It will happen. Somebody may not like a post, a picture. My ass may be too big, my boobs still too small. Whatever it is, I think that they are entitled to their opinion, and can have it. I don’t write to impress anyone. I’m more confident in my body and my mind now as a sex blogger, than I ever have been before. 

Of course, it’s nice to know that my work is liked. I enjoy having followers and new subscribers. I don’t even mind the spotlight so much anymore. My favorite part of being a sex blogger is that I don’t have to filter myself here. This is ME, unedited. So I did not become a celebrity, but I still have reasons to celebrate, and I still get to model, for all of you!

Today I’m celebrating 150 followers (WordPress, E-mail, Twitter, and Facebook) and my first offer to do a round up. Pretty exciting for my first three months 🙂

So to all of my readers and supporters, Thank you!

MrsK

To see who else is talking about Celebrities and Celebrations for #Food4Thought #147, click on the badge.

To read more about MrsK, see How I got here or Who am I?