In kindergarten, my mother helped me put together an elaborate project about butterflies. When my turn arrived to present to the class, I cowered behind my teacher, absolutely terrified of the dozens of pairs of eyes on me. This pattern continued throughout school—even during my college years. I was so afraid of my perceived flaws that I kept my ideas to myself and starved my body in the futile quest of achieving perfection.
It took me over two decades to realize that moving through the world like a shadow would never get me anywhere. While today, most people can’t miss me (quite literally, as I have rather striking blue hair and several tattoos), I’m still coping with harmful internalized messages about size and weight, just like everyone else. My weight tends to fluctuate, and I’ve had curves since puberty, two things I’ve struggled to accept about my body.
This past October, I decided to make a drastic change, and that California would help me do it. I signed myself up as a model for San Francisco Bodypainting Day, a one-day public art exhibition. My partner and I booked a room on Airbnb and spent our first couple of days indulging in San Francisco’s mouthwatering cheap eats and visiting museums and bookstores.
Finally, the day of reckoning arrived. I arrived at the Ferry Building on the Embarcadero in black yoga pants and a grey tee, and could feel the rush of adrenaline as I met dozens of fellow models and artists, who all seemed to look much more comfortable than I felt.
Each model was paired with an artist at random. The woman I was paired with had long, flowing purple hair and a brightly-patterned outfit, which put me at ease almost immediately. I took a deep breath, slipped off my clothes, and let my artist’s paintbrush touch my skin. The models and I—all of different ages (18+), genders, races, and body types—stood in front of a growing crowd completely naked, but it felt natural and normal.
My cellulite and thick thighs were the most visible they’ve ever been, but they were used as a canvas for one-of-a-kind artwork, which gave me a newfound appreciation for what every bit of my body could do and be. Moreover, as I glanced at others’ rolls and wrinkles, I couldn’t help but think of how beautiful and real we all were, our “imperfections” and all.
We’re so used to being bombarded by heavily-photoshopped and airbrushed images that most of us haven’t seen a variety of real, naked bodies in years—or ever, for that matter. Because when you do, you start to realize that the industries that profit off of body insecurity are keeping us terrified of connecting with our own bodies and appreciating bodies that don’t look like ours. Our bodies aren’t gross or scary—they’re bodies, and they can be used in the most meaningful ways.
After a few hours had passed, my stomach was covered by a gorgeous tree, its branches outstretched. My arms were vibrantly-hued flowers, and my legs were a kaleidoscope of reds, oranges, and yellows. Members of the crowd photographed us, and even jumped into a few shots themselves. Our troupe of brightly-colored people then proceeded to stroll along the waterfront in all of our painted glory.
To read the rest of this story from our partner, Proud2BMe, click here.
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