I recently decided to stop reading two websites I had previously greatly enjoyed, because their authors both decided to discuss, at length, how disgusting freaks like me are. How we look repulsive, and undoubtedly horrify and shame our parents. How people who look like me are all mean and rude and snotty. And, of course, the commenters all chimed in with their personal stories about how disgusting/rude people like me are, and that was it, for me, the end, no more reading, because I have better things to do with my time than to be insulted by people I don’t even know.
Being a tattooed and pierced person in this society is a very interesting thing. Even as we become more widespread and inevitably more socially acceptable, we still face a lot of prejudice, which includes rampant misinformation and fear. My visible body modifications are not very extreme, so I experience the low end of the discrimination scale, but it still fascinates me, even as it horrifies me.
It constantly amazes me that people think they can make a snap judgment about me, my personality, my motivations, on the basis of how I look. Mothers cross to the other side of the street with their children when they see me, sometimes. People give me filthy looks when I stand in line at the bank. When something invisible under a sweater or coat becomes visible, people draw back. I have actually had people say that I am “surprisingly nice” for “someone who looks like that.”
Very rarely am I actually personally confronted or insulted; most of the people who actually approach me about my body modifications do so to compliment them, or because they are curious about them. And as a visibly tattooed and pierced person, I feel a sort of obligation to act like an ambassador, to be courteous and kind even when I am asked stupid questions, and to accept compliments with grace. To show children that people with tattoos are not scary, or mean, or cruel. To demonstrate that I am a good citizen, that I pay taxes and volunteer on Coastal Cleanup Day and donate to charities just like everyone else, that my physical appearance is not necessarily an indicator of who I am.
In fact, I became a nicer person after I received body modifications, because they were part of my exploration of self, and an affirmation of who I was. I was no longer hiding or pretending to be something I wasn’t, but living in the open, and it made me more relaxed, more friendly, generally better. I am part of a rich and complex social and historical tradition which has endured for thousands of years, and that makes me proud. I like the silent fellowship of my tattooed brothers and sisters, the knowledge and heritage that we share in our markings.
One of the things about the Internet is that people do not necessarily know what you look like. Some of my readers may be surprised to learn that I have body modifications, because they may not fit with their image of me and I haven’t written about them before, while others may have envisioned me as the “kind of person” who would have body modifications, whatever that kind of person is. Much like members of the LGBQT community, tattooed and pierced people are often marginalized out of fear and ignorance, and actually meeting someone who speaks openly is sometimes enough to break down a barrier, to change minds, to show people that an experience with which they are unfamiliar is not necessarily frightening. Thus, I feel a sort of obligation to “come out,” as it were, to discuss what is readily visible to people who meet me because most of my readers have never seen me.
Freaks like me are psychoanalyzed by people who are not like us. Primarily, I find it amusing to see people who do not know me, who have never really talked with or attempted to know someone like me, announcing that we should be “locked up” and that we are all “self destructive.” But I also find it hurtful, cruel, and wrong. We freaks aren’t so different from those of you who have chosen to keep the bodies you were born with, honestly, and if people talked to us instead of lashing out in fear, they might learn that.
So it is that I stop reading websites when people make careless, ignorant, hateful comments, because I have enough to deal with as it is. Perhaps some day, those people will know better than that. As Bill Compton says, you cannot be frightened of everything you do not know in this world.
Does What You Make Reflect Who You Are?
I’ve been thinking about this question a lot, over the course of my Joss Whedon and Feminism series and in conversations with people about the fat hatred which seems to be so common to many Bryan Fuller shows. I think that the things people make most definitely reflect the natures of their creators, because art is such a personal expression, and I can’t really see how you can make art without integrating a part of yourself into it.
With television it’s particularly challenging, though, because while a single person’s name may be attached to a production, he or she is not the sole creator. Making television is a group effort which involves the input of numerous people, including writers, producers, studios, and even actors. Yet, we expect people to bear responsibility for the things that are produced and sold under their names; troubling antifeminism in the works of Joss Whedon, for example, is attributed to Whedon himself even if he doesn’t actually bear responsibility for it, because he is assumed to be the dominating creative influence, and more importantly, people assume that he has veto power over content, when in fact the situation is more complex.
Can we read things about people from the things they make? Whedon argues that we shouldn’t, and has expressed irritation with people who judge him or make inferences about him on the basis of his shows. But I think this expectation is a little bit unrealistic. We look at “The Sunflowers” or “The Scream” and we cannot help but make judgments about the artist and the subject, because the piece demands our attention and intrigues us. Because the piece is so compelling, we want to learn more about the person behind it, and we use the piece to facilitate that learning.
Is Bryan Fuller antifeminist and antifat? You might think so from the content of some of his series. But maybe he’s not. Is Joss Whedon antifeminist? Again, you might think so from his work, even though he identifies as a feminist. Maybe the troubling content in television shows is the result of network influences, or other writers, or even short sightedness, and a failure to understand that some of this content could be read in a negative way. Is ignorance an excuse? I want to say no, but the fact is that sometimes I am shockingly ignorant, and when I am corrected, I am genuinely contrite, and it’s a valuable lesson.
The question of whether or not people are what they make is closely yoked with the question of whether or not bad people can make good things, which is something I touched upon briefly a few weeks ago. I’m not sure I know the answer to that question, because I’m not sure that creators can be divorced from their work, or that creative work should be viewed in a vacuum. The intent and beliefs of the creator are entwined with it, intentionally or not.