https://twitter.com/addiebrook/status/1621867273907494915?s=46&t=j52wqbyqxTKQFbnpjEJFxQ There was a time not too long ago when I would have been loathe to share the above video. My whole life, I’ve been self-conscious about my gait, except in bars, where, it’s been reported, I immediately take on a comfortable-in-my-skin groove walk upon entry that a friend once described as “like a cat.” Most places aren’t bars, though, and body-comfort has, for most of my life, been inextricably entwined with comfort in every other arena, meaning that if my life feels like it’s falling apart or otherwise not cooperating, then I don’t like my body either. If all is well in my rapidly-shifting planet, then I’m one hot motherfucker, no question. I say that. But it doesn’t mean that watching this video didn’t feel like therapy: I still remember, more vividly than I’d like, being that little girl with the long red hair who was horrified by her full-body reflection, the rhythm of a walk on my tip-toes. (Being born with cerebral palsy meant I was a toe-walker, until the surgeons did their dubious deeds [that were confirmed to be the best course of action at the time]). That little girl could not imagine her walking being filmed by anyone on purpose, let alone an artist and visionary like Addie Tsai. She might have conceded that the fishnets took the edge off — I got into those when I was only a few years older than that little girl — but even still. The notion of being voluntarily known by the movements of my body — by anything, in fact, other than my long-sanctioned words, that safe safe realm of disembodied communication where we can create anything in the presence of anyone without giving a second thought to muscle or limb — would have mystified every self I’ve ever been.
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Body Comfort
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https://twitter.com/addiebrook/status/1621867273907494915?s=46&t=j52wqbyqxTKQFbnpjEJFxQ There was a time not too long ago when I would have been loathe to share the above video. My whole life, I’ve been self-conscious about my gait, except in bars, where, it’s been reported, I immediately take on a comfortable-in-my-skin groove walk upon entry that a friend once described as “like a cat.” Most places aren’t bars, though, and body-comfort has, for most of my life, been inextricably entwined with comfort in every other arena, meaning that if my life feels like it’s falling apart or otherwise not cooperating, then I don’t like my body either. If all is well in my rapidly-shifting planet, then I’m one hot motherfucker, no question. I say that. But it doesn’t mean that watching this video didn’t feel like therapy: I still remember, more vividly than I’d like, being that little girl with the long red hair who was horrified by her full-body reflection, the rhythm of a walk on my tip-toes. (Being born with cerebral palsy meant I was a toe-walker, until the surgeons did their dubious deeds [that were confirmed to be the best course of action at the time]). That little girl could not imagine her walking being filmed by anyone on purpose, let alone an artist and visionary like Addie Tsai. She might have conceded that the fishnets took the edge off — I got into those when I was only a few years older than that little girl — but even still. The notion of being voluntarily known by the movements of my body — by anything, in fact, other than my long-sanctioned words, that safe safe realm of disembodied communication where we can create anything in the presence of anyone without giving a second thought to muscle or limb — would have mystified every self I’ve ever been.